


the princess and the pirate

by gingergenower



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bloody Violence, F/M, First Meeting, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, a drink is spiked, arranged marriages are discussed, but I'd say the main characters are pretty safe, but nothing graphic, life-or-death situations, the curse never happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-07-15 21:02:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7238374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingergenower/pseuds/gingergenower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The curse never happened, and her royal highness Princess Emma is kidnapped by the pirates aboard the Jolly Roger. Neither side realise what they're getting themselves into.</p>
<p>
  <em>Hook lent close, tucking her hair behind her ear, and whispered; “you’re not a servant, are you?”</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> AU the curse never happened and Hook’s given up on revenge because Rumpelstiltskin is the most frustrating character on the show and I find writing him even more frustrating. So he ain’t in it.  
> This story managed to stagger a bit further than I thought it would. I started it thinking ‘15,000 words. Yeah. Like, max. ‘  
> ~46,000 words later~

If Princess Emma had ever needed her hand-to-hand combat lessons, this was the moment; hands gripping her wrists and cloth shoved into her mouth to stop her screaming. Dragging her backwards down alleyways and taking sharp turns, her captors had made so quiet and unassuming a grab she knew it hadn’t been seen.

Three people were half carrying her, and she gauged their grips by pulling slightly. The man behind her held her left arm and her waist, the second her right arm and leg, and the last supported most of her weight. Her right arm had the weakest pull.

One of them stumbled on the uneven floor- Emma yanked her hand free, smacking the heel of her hand into the face of one. Ignoring the crack of his nose, she elbowed the second in the face and thrust yanked her legs free and kicked out, making contact with a stomach.

The last held her around the waist and her arm. She couldn’t reach him to strike, couldn’t get to her knife, and his grip was so tight it hurt. Reaching upwards, she grabbed his ear and yanked.

He yelped in pain, the other two scrambling to their feet, and she kicked out. Striking out, they wrestled her to her knees, arms thrown up behind her back.

“Bitch,” one said, spitting in her face and touching his heavily bleeding nose with his sleeve.

“Tie her up,” the second grunted.

She made a choking noise in the back of her throat, wriggling against them, but they bound and tied the gag in place. She wasn’t sure she’d learnt a move to get out of that grip.

“Move it,” the third muttered, jerking her to her feet and shoving her forwards. She stumbled, the uneven cobbles of the back alley doing her a disservice, but before she could run they’d grabbed both upper arms, steering her.

She thrashed against them, twisting and dropping her weight and screaming into her gag, until one of them sighed, rolled his eyes and threw her over his shoulder.

Her kicks suppressed by his incredible grip, she could barely move, her hands utterly useless as they followed a path Emma had never followed before; twisted and winding, it took them through the less forgiving part of the kingdom, where duels to the death were more common and drinking was in abundance. Where the occasional ghost of a pirate ship had been known to pass through.

Emma knew they’d reached the docks at the crash of waves, the sound underfoot changing as they crossed a gangplank. The man shrugged her off his shoulder- she staggered and landed heavily on her side and arm, bouncing on the greasy wood and yelping into her gag. Staring up at the sails and masts above, she froze.

She was on board a pirate ship. Scarlet flag rising and falling with the gentle breeze above her, it announced them without saying a word. Its sheer size was shocking, as big as any in her parents’ fleet.

“Better get going,” she heard one say. “Got her off the street.”

“Aye?”

“She paid for somethin' with gold. Has more money than she'd let on, I'd bet.”

Hands took her gold and knife out of her pocket. Emma struggled to swallow, but she took the moment to steady her pounding heart. Panic would not save her, and it seemed they didn’t know who she was.

Shifting her weight, she eased herself into a sitting position.

“How did that happen?” a voice asked, curious and mocking.

The man with the broken nose rammed his boot into her side- she would've screamed if she could've. 

“This bitch punched me.”

Showing anything other than cold distrust would spur further assaults, so she fought the hot tears rising in her eyes, blinking fast. Focussing on her breathing, balking the pain response- what her mother had talked about doing. 

Emma shifted where she sat, and her eyes scrunched shut. She was almost certain he'd cracked her ribs, pain throbbing in her side. 

“You let her punch you?”

“Didn't have much choice, did I?”

Nudged from behind with a foot, she winced.

“Who are you, my pretty?” 

The voice murmured in her ear, breath hot, fingers touching her neck.

Dread stiffened her spine like cold water.

“Right lads, we'd best- who's that?”

He’d started in a shout and ended in a confused, low question as the fingers on her neck disappeared. Emma glanced to her left, but could only catch a glimpse of the new arrival.

“She broke my nose!” 

That one weasel could not leave it alone. Emma felt the urge to roll her eyes.

The new arrival was wearing a heavy leather coat, and she saw a flash of silver, and she thought it was a dagger. She assumed this was the captain, all eyes on him, the way they’d backed away from her.

He raised his eyebrows, smirking. “If the lass could punch you, I daresay you'd deserved it! Are you a pirate or a landlubber?”

“She was good,” one said, her voice quiet but carrying. There was a pause.

“Good?”

“Good enough.”

He strode down steps and across the deck, landing in front of Emma. She tried to lurch away, barely staying upright, eyes fixed on his side. The dagger was not a dagger at all.  
He had a hook instead of a hand.

Pulling away, she trained her gaze on his eyes. He crouched in front of her, his eyes lingering on her face, her clothes, head cocked to the side. He was young, only a few years older than Emma. His unshaven scruff and thick black leathers stretching from head to toe were accompanied by a delighted smirk.

“May I introduce myself? I'm Captain Hook. Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger!”

He wasn’t lying- if anyone would know, Emma would. He was actually real.

His bright blue eyes looked up at her through his eyelashes, black kohl smudged underneath. This man was not what she expected the outlawed king of the sea to be- he was not famed for being handsome, yet here he was.

She kept staring.

“And who are you?”

In a swift move that appeared to be an attempt to slit her throat, he ripped upwards with his hook and yanked the gag away.

She was paralysed. She had wanted to scream, but her voice died in her throat. She wanted throw herself off the boat, but she wouldn’t even get to standing. She wanted to curl up and cry, and leave them to make her decisions. Gods, did she want to stand down.

But she didn’t. She was her parent’s daughter, through and through. She decided her own fate.

Forcing herself to breathe, she let herself look at the hook a little too long before she accepted eye contact again. His lip twitched, giving a quick look to someone behind her.  
The hook was so sharp and unforgiving she knew she would be dead before she hit the deck. 

“Lass, I asked you a question,” Hook said genially, and a couple of the crew chuckled at his tone. Most of them had crowded around in interest, predominantly men but four or five female faces among them. “Who are you?”

Emma tried to pull her hands apart, ease the rope open with sheer force, but the knots only tightened- she knew that was how she should play her fake information. It would make it believable.

She kept quiet, ducking her head.

Her greatest talent was spotting a lie- second only to her ability to tell one.

“Don’t play games, lass. It won’t keep you alive. Name?”

He believed his words, but it wasn’t true of the game she was playing.

“Mary,” she said, still trying to calm her breathing. The hoarseness made her lie sound even better. “Mary Margaret.”

The name she and her mother both agreed on a long time ago.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

Mixing truth with lies- making one from the other indistinguishable.

“Tell me, Mary Margaret- why did you attack my crew?”

Her head flew up to look at him, sputtering her answer out. “They attacked me.”

“Actually, we just grabbed her,” a cool female voice said again. “We didn’t attack you.”

Emma didn’t move her gaze from Hook, as though speaking to him. “You are pirates and I was afraid.”

Hook raised his eyebrows. “I don’t allow people to hurt my crew.”

True. She couldn't stop herself, nose flaring. “I already did.”

He leant back a little, looking her up and down.

“What’s your occupation?”

A question laced with poison. It put a price on her head, answered if she would be missed- decided her fate. 

Reluctance.

“Why should I tell you?”

His hook was on her neck in seconds, his hand steadying her head, smile a little too calm. “Because if you don't, love,” he said, murmuring it into her ear like a lover's caress, “I’ll paint the deck with your blood.”

The cold metal bit into her skin. She couldn’t tell if he was lying. 

“I'm a maid.”

He was gone- hook at his side, he released her, stood up, and arranged his smirk back in place. Emma saw black spots, and pulled in a breath, chest tight. Blood ran down her throat.

He addressed the crew, and they cheered for him. “Gentlemen, gentlemen. Our Mary Margaret will walk the plank when we get to sea.” Hook turned to directly speak to one, smiling. “Does that make your broken nose feel better?”

It was clearly a joke at the expense at the pirate, but he didn't mind, answering seriously. “Yeah, Captain. It does.”

He was lying, but she didn’t know what about- Emma twisted, ribs protesting sharply. “No! You can't, you don't-”

“Love,” he said, smile polite and putting his hands in his pockets. “Whatever you say, I've heard it before.”

True.

For a moment, she was only disappointed she would miss the ball that was to take place in her honour in two months’ time.

“I'm valuable to you, I am,” she insisted, rising to her knees and ignoring the pain in her side. “I'm only valuable alive.”

Hook smirked. “And why's that?”

She threw down the only card she could play, aside from the truth. “I work for the crown. I'm her royal highness’, Princess Emma's, personal maid.”

He tried not to betray himself, but she'd learnt tricks from her mother and beaten her father one too many times at poker, particularly when the game when was not in her favour. His lip twisted slightly, his eyes narrowed, leaning forward. “And that should interest me because...?”

“She cares for me.” Downplay everything. Don't show your hand. “They know me- her parents might listen if she asked for my life to be spared.”

Valuable enough to be worth it. Not so valuable they’d fight to keep her.

The crew were already readying the ship, but he was playing his game too, sussing Emma out. He hadn't realised she'd already beaten him; just one more bluff.

“Killian.”

His smile stiffened, eyes widening.

“What?”

“Your name is Killian Jones.”

“How do you know that name?”

Head shaking slightly, lips parted, she breathed out. “I've heard her royal highness call you Killian Jones before now. She says only nobles know your true name.”

“…aye.” He stared into her eyes, and she eventually blinked and looked away. She shivered, staring at deck.

Her next move was to fold.

A hand grabbed her arm and dragged her to her feet, and her ribs felt like they were stabbing her organs. Her face crumpled, pressing her lips together, but she groaned anyway.  
Hook was smirking again.

“Mr Smee- send a letter to the palace. We’ve a ransom to collect.”

Her knees nearly buckled, sagging in Hook's grip. She closed her eyes, head bowing, her next breath feeling like her first- the sea air was the sweetest salt she’d ever tasted.

“Take her below, if you would-”

“Shouldn’t I write it?”

Hook turned to her. “What?”

“The letter. Shouldn’t I write it?”

He folded his arm, smirking. “Why would I have you do that?”

Emma tried to make her words desperate, as though she wanted to help him to help herself. “I haven't been gone an hour. They might not even have noticed I'm gone, and don't you think they ought to have some confirmation I'm here- and alive?”

He considered her. “I suppose you can add your own message. But, darlin’- be desperate. Be pitiable. It shouldn’t be so hard.”

She glanced around the ship. In the middle of the deck, hands bound, not a soul even sparing her a look, she agreed with him.

Then, she thought of her mother. She’d send messages to every kingdom with people that ever loved her, every village, every port- riches beyond wildest dreams awaiting the person who returned her daughter. She thought of her father, taking up his sword and marching halfway across the world alone to find her. Emma thought of herself.

She shook her head.

“I cannot be as desperate as my parents will be.”

She didn’t see Hook glance back to her, quirking an eyebrow.

With a further prompt, Mr Smee took her below to the hold, chaining one wrist to the wall and leaving the other free. She sat on the wooden bed when he left, and several minutes later, he returned with the ransom note written by Captain Hook.

When she was being taught to write- before Emma had even wielded a quill long enough to write fully- her father and tutors had drilled a number of codes into her head for emergencies, and one sprung to mind, perfect for this moment. She told the man she was a slow writer, but would do her best. Mr Smee assured her it was fine.

They’d demanded twenty gold pieces. Her parents would pay the sum a hundred times.

In a deliberately shaky, untidy script, Emma began to write.

 

_dearest emma,_  
dont worry about me- pay the ransom and everything will be fine. The Full amount is a lot but i will pay you back i promise. they are being nice. Think i will be glad to be home, am missing it even though it hasnt been long- a girl just doesn't feel right without her mum and dad. maid duties aren't nearly as bad as i thought!  
love, mary-margaret

 

The word after every use of grammar- punctuation and capital letters- to send a message. Perfect for the sentence structure of an undereducated maid.

She handed it over, only saying Emma tended not to open her letters immediately and it might be best to send it to the king and queen themselves. Mr Smee thanked her for her advice, and she nodded, as though it wasn’t in her best interest to do so.

The hold was an unnervingly quiet place, the life and bustle above drowned out. She was left with strange creaks and her own thoughts for the longest time, and she couldn’t help but close her eyes for a moment and pretend she was in her bedroom.

Faintly, she heard yells making orders above her, and when the ship rocked more heavily, she knew they were on the move.

No one came down. The rocking near lulled her to sleep still sat upright, until she moved her head and her neck hurt. Touching it, blood came away on her fingertips. He’d drawn it with the hook and it was smeared over her neck, dried in her hair, and she was reminded sleeping was not in her health’s best interests on a pirate ship. Staying alert, staying smart, and keeping a play ahead of them would.

Hopefully, the princess would not have been publicly announced as missing yet; it wasn't unheard of for her to sneak off into the woods for archery practice, and she knew if her value increased, her chances of survival would decrease by the same margin.

To distract herself, she paid her aching ribs attention. The corset she wore had been dislodged by the kick and was bending her spine in a strange way. Grateful the chain to the wall was long enough to trail to the floor, she untied and relaced it herself- a difficult job to occupy her mind sufficiently. To her surprise, it helped as well- the support it gave her ribs meant they hurt less, even if her movement was restricted by the pain.

She often roamed the streets of her parent’s kingdom in plain clothes. The rules of this freedom were drilled into her head- no jewels, carry a dagger and enough money to pay off a mugger if one caught you off guard, stay in well-populated, friendly areas, and keep escape routes planned at all times. She’d never broken them, keen to be with her people- her favourite moments were when little children demanded to play 'princes and princesses', their parents grateful to work distraction-free as the streets filled with shrieks and laughter.

Her eyes were heavy. The ship rose into every wave, the sky dimmed to the darkest blue, and Emma drifted in and out of consciousness.

***

“Lass, it's payday!”

Emma snorted, not deeming him worthy to open her eyes, even though she'd lurched to fully awake in seconds. She was still upright on the cot, head back on the wall, and she didn’t move from her position.

“Congratulations, Killian.”

“Call me Captain.”

“As you wish, Captain,” she said.

His voice lilted up, as though he was smiling. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, lass.”

“As you wish.”

She kept her eyes closed; he would not think he had her full attention. Emma could not care how brazen it made her. She was a prisoner, but she would not bow to him. It was silent as he unlocked the door, stepped through, and closed and locked it again. Her jaw tightened, but she refused to react or open her eyes.

“You don’t say much.”

“I don’t have much to say.”

“Everyone has something to say.”

“Well, then. I don’t fancy sharing it with you, Captain.”

“You have to. I order you to tell me.”

The whole thing was a joke. Her life was a joke to him.

Her eyes shot open, and she lifted her head to glare, not bothering to read him. He was still stood in the doorway.

“I miss my parents, and if I don’t go home, I’m not sure how they’d survive. They need me.”

She shut her eyes and rested her head again.

The straw underfoot rustled, but he didn’t sound much closer.

“Who are your parents?”

“The kindest people I’ve ever met.” She didn’t want to lie about them. 

Whenever she feared the power being a queen would bring, she remembered she only had to follow in their footsteps.

“I might’ve spared your life anyway, you know.”

She barked out a laugh, but she was so tired her words came out as a sigh. “Of course.”

“I’m a man of honour, lass.”

Sweeping her matted hair to one side, she exposed her neck and the cut that was so deep it had only stopped bleeding a few hours before.

“Of course. You’re not the type of man to hurt an unarmed girl.”

He paused.

“I-” he sighed. “Look at me.”

Briefly, she cracked open an eye. She closed it again.

She was yanked to her feet- a hand under her arm and a hook around her waist, her chest would have been flush to his except her arms were trapped between them and braced against him. She had no choice but to stare into his eyes.

He smiled. “That’s better. Now, lass, as I was saying. I backed you into a corner. I always threaten people with the plank. It’s what I do. Nothing personal.”

His hand curled into her waist, holding her as though they were embracing, as though she was something precious.

“And if I was worth nothing?”

“You aren’t worth nothing,” he said, eyes drifting to her lips with a smirk.

“But if I was.”

“I’d have let you go.”

True.

Emma breathed out, looked away, raised an eyebrow. It was beyond her to care he was not completely inhuman.

“Of course.”

He shook her slightly, grip relaxing. “Look at me.”

“No.”

He recoiled, as though she’d backhanded him, and then his grip tightened, pulling her closer. She tried to push him away. He didn’t budge.  
Emma rolled her eyes, turning back to him. 

“Fine, you wouldn’t have hurt me, I believe you, now let go of me.”

Hook's brow furrowed, lips parted, eyes tight as they explored her face. “There’s something about you. I don’t…”

“I have that effect.”

“You remind me of someone.”

“I’m so glad. Let go of me.”

“Lass-”

“If you don’t let go of me this instant I’m going to make you,” she snapped, her knuckles digging into his chest so fiercely it must have hurt him.

The tip of the hook digging into her lower back, she went still. He’d readjusted it- made it into the weapon it could be.

“Careful, lass. Don’t get above yourself.”

It was a warning, but his voice was so soft when he said it, it felt like a request. He was smiling.

She held his gaze, twisting one of her arms free slowly. She seized the cold metal of his hook and pressed it into her own throat. He tried to resist, pulling away, but she only dug the tip in, drawing blood herself.

His smile dropped.

“Go on then, Captain. Paint your beloved ship with my blood,” she whispered, the lover’s caress in her voice as much as it had been in his.

She wasn’t to be toyed with.

“I thought you wanted to see your parents again,” he said, swallowing.

“They’d forgive me.”

Emma kept her coy smile in place as she gazed into his eyes, holding his hook to her neck, smoothing his shirt collar with her other hand.

He let her go. 

She sat down, forcing her head back, her eyes closed until he left.

***

The crew were not gentle to get her back on deck, but she would not cry until she was safe. She refused to.

Holding her chin up, she looked down her nose at every one of them when she passed them, the man with the broken nose sneering but she didn’t flinch. When faced with fear, she realised she was a lot like her mother.

They had laid anchor near the beach directed to in the letter, and Hook, despite himself, glanced at Emma as she was escorted to his side. He’d told her she reminded him of someone- for one blazing moment, it was as though he’d found Milah in another’s body, but he had been wrong. Milah was like the wind- fleeting, beautiful, she took him on wild adventures and always brought him home again. This girl was like the sea- tempestuous and dangerous, she would destroy him given half the chance.

Turning back to his crew, he was aware of their watching eyes. He had preparations to make, after all, and he could not dwell on her.  
Emma stared through the pitch black of the hour before dawn, and could just about make out the shoreline. She wondered if anyone had received the message, how it would play out, and who would show up.

It seemed unlikely Hook would send the message with an unruly messenger. He wanted his gold.

A voice barked from behind, the person grabbing her and pulling her a couple of steps backwards.

“Cap’n- are you sure she’s worth giving away?”

Hook whirled around, clocking the hand on her arm immediately. She tried to wrench herself out of the slimy man’s grip, but he simply jeered at her.

“Ooh, she’s feisty too! Please, Cap’n, we could have such fun with her…”

“We’re not giving her away, we’re getting gold,” he said. “Now drop my prisoner. I promised she wouldn’t be hurt.”

He didn’t let go- Emma cursed the rope tying her hands together in front of her.

“She won’t get hurt… if she does as she’s told.”

Giving up all restraint, she spun on the spot and whacked him with her tied hands- she hit him under the chin with such force he fell flat on his back.

“‘Feisty’ is not a strong enough word,” she spat as someone else dragged her back.

It was Hook, and he was laughing.

“You little-” the slimy one wheezed, winded.

“I did tell you to get off her, Jenkins,” he said, grin huge. He slung an arm around her shoulders, and she squirmed under him, pulling a face. “It was only natural the unarmed, tied up prisoner would floor you.”

Jenkins scrambled up and lunged forwards, Emma found herself thrown aside- Hook caught Jenkins by the neck. Emma staggered, but stayed standing.

“Get back to work,” he said, throwing him away. “And don’t approach her again.” He turned to the crew. “She might hurt him next time!”

They all laughed.

Hook turned back to the few members he had been talking to.

Straightening herself up, Emma was taken hold of by a reluctant Mr Smee.

“What should I do with her, Captain?” he asked.

“Hold her, if you’re capable,” Hook said, a joke that seemed to voice a genuine fear.

“Very good, Captain.”

He was issuing orders in the event of an ambush or an attack, but Emma knew this beach was too far from the palace to have time to prepare a plan other than the one dictated in the note.

The sun rose, the sky blood red, and Emma was shoved into a rowboat alongside three pirates and Hook.

Emma sat straight and still as they rowed, her hands still bound. She clasped them together to ease how the rope dug into her wrists. She kept her eyes down. Not looking, and pretending they cared a little about their humanity, was better than seeing and knowing they didn't.

“You’re right,” Hook said to her quietly.

“What?”

“Feisty isn’t a strong enough word.”

She smiled, but she wasn’t amused. “I don’t think there’s a word for someone like me.”

Hook lent close, tucking her hair behind her ear, and whispered; “you’re not a servant, are you?”

Her fingers clenched, knuckles white and fingers red.

“You walk like a queen.”

She felt numb, but forced an even, light tone. “In truth… I’m behaving how I believe the princess would.”

Hook snorted. “She sounds like a character. I’d like to meet her.”

“I’m not sure she’d like to meet you.”

She glanced away. Bluffs were natural to her, but play one too many and your game unravels.

The light finally lit up the beach, and revealed a lone man holding the reigns of a horse at least ten metres from the edge of the water. Hook leapt from the boat first, and two of Hook's men pulled her from the boat to wade through knee deep water.

She recognised the horse- it was one of the fastest their stables possessed, but more than that was the man. He was dressed as merely a guard, no more than simple combat skills, but she knew his dark eyes, his elongated nose- he was Sir Lawrence, the only knight she could count her victories against with one hand.

“Hey mate!” Hook called out, grabbing Emma’s arm and holding her up. “Look, the girl's alive and everything. Where's our money?”

Sir Lawrence ignored him. “Their Majesties the King and Queen wish to convey a message. They cannot pay a ransom of any kind, no matter whose life it is, because if they pay one, they must pay them all.”

Hook’s lips pressed together, a slight grimace. Emma’s chest heaved, the wind knocked out of her- this was not the plan, not the plan, what were they thinking-

“However, we are here because the girl’s parents found a way to pay the money. I have their payment here in full.”

Emma’s breathing rasped. She knew her parents. They'd gone into the details of this to make it plausible and tried to keep their people safe too, so she had to get her bearings again.

“My parents? But they cannot afford- they are too poor-”

The reactionary tears that had welled up spilled over when she blinked.

“I believe they took a loan, Miss,” he said, and Emma struggled against Hook.

“But they'll never pay it back- please sir, no, they can’t-”

Hook's grip on her arm tightened.

“We’ll meet halfway,” he said, pulling a bag of coins off his belt.

“No- please, I can’t have that burden on my parents-”

Hook’s hand squeezed harder. “Shut up.”

He dragged Emma forwards, and Sir Lawrence met her. There were a few moments where Hook and the knight both held the money and Emma, but she was released into safety's arms. They didn't turn their backs until they reached the patiently waiting horse.

“Are you well enough to ride?”

“Of course,” she said. Her ribs were dulled enough to ignore.

He gestured to the tall grass by rocks at the edge of the beach. “The knights are waiting for you there. Meet them and do as they say.”

She nodded, and with his help she mounted the huge horse. Emma let her eyes linger on the pirates one last time. Hook was watching her closely, having counted the money.

Sir Lawrence drew his sword, and she dug her heels into the horse's side and clicked- galloping across the sand, she felt freer than she had ever felt her life with real tears rolling down her cheeks. She tightly turned a corner- boat, pirates and knight disappearing- falling into the lap of the knights on horseback.

“Your royal highness,” one said, the rest racing around the corner she had just turned. “Follow me.”

Led to the top of a hill overlooking the beach, she glanced back. The pirates had abandoned a battle, it seemed, and the knights were already heading back towards them.

Her father was one of the men waiting, and his head raised to the heavens as if to thank them when he saw her. He saw her neck was tended to before they left, hugging her so frequently it was almost smothering. 

She recounted her adventure to both of her parents, in turn, and was ordered to bed, to heal from the ordeal and rest her injuries. Her ribs would be fine, she was assured, and the scabs on her neck would clear.

The princess thought very little of the pirate in the following days, sleeping and eating accounting for most of her time. He thought very much of her, fleeing from the ships sent to destroy them. Neither of them knew that their adventure had scarcely started.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months after her ordeal, Emma struggles with nightmares of a man with a hook for a hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve changed the age rating- it’s Mature now, not Teen and Up- and added a couple of tags. Please check them in case of trigger warnings, and if you’re nervous about reading at all please message me and I’ll elaborate on details or help you in any way I can.
> 
> I said posting on Saturdays, but I'm pretty sure my generation in the uk needs a distraction rn, so I'm posting early.
> 
> So, to everyone who wondered how they'd meet again...

They spent every night the duke joined them in great splendour, the tables laden in more food than they would ever eat and Emma’s choices of gowns stretched so far it became a burden. She knew it would not do to wear the same thing twice, even with half her wardrobe being riding gear, armour and thick leathers. She found her time more and more preoccupied with which fine jewels to pair new gowns with, and how to dress up her hair.

The bracelet his grace gave her, opals inset fine silver spirals winding around her wrist, she’d worn three times, and just the night before this he commented she must like it.

Her maid, Cara, heard the comment, and suggested she not wear it for a few days. 

Emma smirked. “Quite right. I wouldn’t want him to think I’m too attached,” she said, lightly tapping powder over the dark bags under her eyes. 

Cara weaved strings of pearls into Emma’s hair, smiling. “He’s handsome. And he seems to like you very much.”

“He is so charming sometimes I fear I shouldn’t trust him.” Emma admired herself in the mirror, sighing. “Cara, can you-? I can’t make this work, I’m just making a mess of it.”

Finishing the most intricate hairstyle Emma had ever seen on herself, Cara turned her attention to Emma’s face, frowning as she studied Emma’s handiwork.

“Your highness, you’ve done a wonderful job,” she said, blending out an edge with a finger. “Truly. You can’t tell.”

“Am I overthinking it?”

“Possibly, your highness.”

Emma stared back in the mirror, trying to pretend she’d never seen the face before. Perhaps Cara was right- the duke had certainly never made a comment about her tiredness. Standing, she smoothed her gown, fingers skimming over the heavy beaded detailing.

“You look beautiful.”

Emma gave her a quick smile. “It’s all your work. Which reminds me- you’re to go home tonight, Cara.”

Cara’s brow wrinkled. “I cannot possibly. Your nightmares-”

Emma took her hand with both of hers, holding it close to her chest. “Cara. You need to go home. I’ve kept you here for fifteen days- I counted- and you’ve barely seen your parents. It’s not fair. For tonight, I’ll manage without you.”

Cara squeezed her hands. “I appreciate your concern, but I really feel I would be better served here, I can’t leave you alone-”

“Then you needn’t worry,” Emma said, smiling even though it was a struggle, “for my mother returns soon, and she wrote ahead promising to give you and my father a night off.”

Shaking her head, Cara tried again. “I don’t mind, your highness, I like being here for you.”

Emma’s shoulders dropped, the corners of her smile following suit, and Cara would have thought it insincere if it weren’t for the exhaustion she could see in what remained.

“Cara…” Emma pulled her into a hug, holding her like a sister. “That is why you shall always have a place here, if you want it. But for tonight, you go home.”

Cara pulled away, nodding. “If you need me at any time-”

“I will send Sir Lawrence in a heartbeat,” Emma assured her, and Cara quickly squeezed her in a hug again. Exhaling, Emma checked her necklace was aligned correctly, and Cara escorted her to the hall.

The Northern Kingdom hadn’t heard a whisper of the Jolly Roger in six months, disappearing into the mist as quickly as it had come, but her father still embraced her as though it was the first since that ordeal.

She clutched him tightly, smiling and nodding at the duke when they parted, and allowed her father to help seat her.

“How is mother’s progress?” she asked him, and he sat himself, smiling.

“She should be back by noon tomorrow,” her father said.

She grinned, turning to the duke. “You must know, your grace, my mother is not normally gone this long- there has been some trouble in the East, disputes over old land Xavier makes claims to. She said they were having difficulty finding an agreement they were happy with, but hopefully, she will have reached some form of compromise with him by tonight.”

Emma did not need to look at her father to see him glance at her, but she maintained a steady gaze on the duke.

“That is one of beauties of my home,” the duke said, smiling. “You either own nothing, or it all.”

“You have _thirteen_ islands,” Emma said, sipping wine. “I imagine that to be far more difficult to keep.”

“It’s worth it.”

“The Isles are spectacular,” her father said, accepting a plate from the butler. “I visited once, in the summer. I’ve heard it rains rather frequently.”

“The landscape more than makes up for the storms,” the duke agreed, grinning. He added cold meats to his plate, while Emma served herself the fish on offer.

“I trust you found the stables to your satisfaction?” Emma said, and he leant in eagerly.

“Your horses are beautiful, I’ve never ridden such powerful creatures before.”

Emma glanced at her father. He shook his head so slightly Emma only knew it was an answer to her unsaid question because she knew it would be his answer. “They are wonderful to ride, and excellent in battle.”

The duke looked to her father, his smile polite. “You… have fought in battle?”

“I’ve trained for it with the knights,” Emma said, lips quirking up. “It was mostly in jest, but my horse never faltered.”

“Have you a lot of experience fighting?”

Her father huffed, spearing his beef with enthusiasm. “Too much. She’s like her mother; a warrior you wouldn’t want to face in battle.”

“Do you fight?” Emma asked, and he nodded.

“I should like to test myself against you some time. I trained with his royal highness at home.”

“Ah,” Emma said, watching him over her glass. “I should imagine I’ll best you then; I was trained by my parents.”

At the end of the meal, her father was quick to pull her aside, telling the duke they would catch up with him in the library. He waited until the servant shut the door on them, and they were alone, to speak.

“Emma, I know you don’t want to partake in this conversation, but it must happen.”

She bit her lip, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

“It has not gone as smoothly with Xavier as we hoped. Your mother is not confident we have appeased him for long.”

“Then we shall have to compromise again,” Emma said, frowning. This was not where she expected the conversation to begin.

“We shall. But your mother and I agree that we cannot guarantee your safety as this is, and it worries us that you seem to ignore the danger completely-”

“I cannot fear it.” She glared at him. “I cannot even think about it, my head is too full.”

He held her gaze, but broke away and to massage his temples.

He knew- half the palace, all of the servants- knew how she was haunted as she slept. Her screams once woke her parents on the other side of the palace.

She twisted the ring on her right hand round and round her finger until he stood straight.

“Emma. The point I need to make is that I don’t want you to make hasty decisions because you’re under stress, with this and the letters. Despite what you say I know you worry about it, so all your mother and I ask is that you don’t enter an engagement with his grace until you have had some peace and time to truly consider it.”

Emma acknowledged his advice, and promised to act accordingly. She ‘considered’ it the entire hour her father and their guest played poker. Emma ‘considered’ him as though he were a card in his game, not a person. She ‘considered’ him outside of his good connections and standing.

He was attractive, neat hair and cleanly shaven and attire that outshone hers most of the time. He habitually watched her when he thought her reading, dark eyes watchful and curious. He tended her make her father laugh most when he wasn’t thinking too hard about what he was saying, frustrated or merely concentrating.

Many reports of him claimed him to be a calming presence and generous person, and they had not yet rung false, even those put forward by his closest friends. He would a good king, and that was all Emma needed of him. He was more than she asked for.

David offered to walk her to her room, but she declined, feeling a headache return from the morning. She excused herself and headed towards her room, but at the top of the second set of winding steps, the duke caught up with her.

“Your grace,” Emma said, curtseying. He bowed. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Your highness, I am aware this is untoward, but I would like to be plain with you,” he said, in such a hurry Emma could barely keep up with him, but he waited until she indicted he could to continue. “It would be my greatest honour to ask for your hand in marriage, but I believe there is something preventing your father from giving his blessing. Am I correct?”

Emma drew back, sighing. “Yes, you are. Cicero, I would also very much like to marry you, but my parents are… protective. There was an incident a few months ago- not even an incident, really, it was meaningless- but it meant that my parents are unwilling to allow me to do anything that could cause me to part from them. Marrying you would mean taking a step away from them, and I fear that they cannot bear that yet.”

He nodded slowly, staring past her. “Very well, then. Should I stay or would it be better that I leave?”

“I should like you to stay,” Emma said, looking at him through her eyelashes.

Smiling, he took her hand and kissed her hand, lingering for a few moments. “Very well, your highness. Sleep well.”

“You too,” she said, and he left back down the stairs.

She exhaled, slumping against the wall, before retreating down corridor and into her room. It was dim, the candles unlit because of Cara’s absence, but she did not mind, settling in the seat of her dressing table and unpinning her hair. She eased the pearls out, discarding them on her desk along with her necklace.

“So, princess. Two of my men died because of you.”

Her careful routine came to a halt when the voice echoed around her room, brush pausing mid-way through her hair. Her face went white, stomach clamping up. Staring into the mirror she saw Captain Hook draped across the windowsill, flicking dust off his hook. She hadn’t even noticed the window open.

_I miss you._

She pulled the brush through the rest of her curls and set it down. “I don’t recall killing anyone.”

Her hair was three inches longer than it had been when he knew her. Her parents had sent missions after him, but all returned empty handed. Not too many people were willing to name Captain Hook and risk having him as their enemy.

“They died fighting your knights.” 

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have held me for ransom if you didn’t want to face the consequences,” she said, picking up the comb with a hidden blade. She swallowed, keeping her voice light and excessively civil.

“I didn’t know who you were.”

“Think about that next time you kidnap someone,” she said. She was impressed he didn’t rise to her bait.

“If I had, I would’ve asked for more gold.”

“I can only hope the gold you got was enough compensation for your dead men,” she said, flashing him a distasteful smile.

He stood. His thick leathers framed his tall, lean figure and Emma thought he wore so much black he looked like a shadow, a nightmare, not a man. 

She could her heart thrumming in her ears as she turned to face him, standing too.

“It wasn’t, lass,” he said, eyes dark and his sneer casting strange shapes across his face in the candlelight. “They were good men.”

“They were _pirates_ ,” she spat, hands shaking so badly she wasn’t sure she would be able to stab him even if he stood still and waited for it. “I don’t care for your kind, and I care less for ones who would’ve seen me _dead_.”

“You think I took men with me to the beach who would’ve treated you badly? I needed you alive for the gold, you silly little girl-”

_You’re perfect-_

“I’m sorry they’re gone, then!” she said, throwing the necklace from her dressing table it at his feet. “There! Is that better? Take it! Human life is worth the price of gold, after all!”

He didn’t even look at it. “Not good enough.”

She paused. “Gods- take it all. Tiaras, jewels, have your pick-”

“No.”

He walked towards her, steps slow and deliberate. She took several back- he was already between her and the door.

“Your parents took my men, so I’m going to take you,” he said, drawing his sword.

“I’d rather die,” she said, heel hitting the wall. 

“That was the idea.”

Everything seemed to slow. His eyes didn’t look blue anymore- they were as black as his heart. She started sideways, circling towards her bed, and he advanced, sword raised.

“HELP!” she screamed, skidding on her abandoned nightdress on the floor. The comb slipped out of her hand. “GUARDS, GUARDS-”

She tried to leap over the bed, but he caught her ankle- feet taken from underneath her, she fell face first onto the bed. He rolled her over and leapt up, dropping his sword and straddling her waist. Grabbing her hands with his only one, he pinned them to the bed above her head.

She whimpered as he lent close to her, breath on her face. He smiled, and his eyes were the colour of a cloudless day, as though they had never darkened at all. She flinched away from him when his hook caressed her jaw, cheek pressing into the bed linen to try and hide the tears.

“Hello, princess.”

_I saw you._

“Make it fast.”

His grip slackened an infinitesimal amount.

“What was that?”

“Please make it fast, please.” She heard herself, and the words were coming out so softly it sounded like a prayer, so fast it was hysterical. “I can’t, I can’t- please, make it fast-”

He let go of her hands. Taking hold of her chin, he forced her to look at him. She was still crying, and her hands clutched the sheets underneath them, something to root her to sanity.

“Aren’t you going to fight?”

_You betrayed me._

She didn’t answer, closing her eyes.

The door opened- Hook huffed at the guard stood there. “Do you mind? We’re a little busy in here.”

The guard assessed the two of them, eyes flicking from Hook to Emma and back to Hook again. She whipped her head up. 

“What’s going on?”

“We’re-”

Emma tried to shove Hook away, desperately catching the guard’s eye. “This man is trying to kill me-”

Hook rolled his eyes, stumbling off her and scooping up his sword. “Duel for the lady’s life?”

Emma threw herself off the bed and put as much distance as she could between Hook and herself. “Don’t-”

The guard ignored her, taking a step towards Hook, hands in surrender. Hook surveyed him as though he sensed a trap. “There’s no need. Just kill her now. We’ve only got about twenty minutes until the guards are on their way.”

Hook took a step, his blade dropping to the floor. Emma’s stomach plunged down with it.

“…what? Sorry, mate, I thought you were here to protect her.”

The guard shut the doors behind him. “No, actually. I’m here to kill her.”

“So- who are you?”

“Not the guard who should be wearing this outfit, if that’s what you think,” he said, indicating his clothes.

Emma swallowed, staring around for some options. The windows were open but it was a fifty foot drop and she didn’t fancy her chances scaling it. She eased open her dresser, putting one hand inside and slowly rummaging around, past silks and satins and ball gowns and day dresses…

“Right. And you’re here to kill this lass.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The guard shrugged. “I was paid to.”

“By who?”

“I didn’t ask questions.”

Emma’s hand clamped around the hilt of her broadsword.

She worked open the knot attaching it to her armour and pulled it out of the wardrobe, and as the two men turned to watch her yanked it out of the scabbard, holding it with both hands and pointing it straight at Hook.

Before, she was pinned to her bed with no hope of escaping. Now she was armed.

“You’ll have to fight me first.”

Hook rolled his eyes. “Really, princess? We’re going to play this game?”

_You ripped out my heart so I shall rip out yours._

She gritted her teeth, tears not even dried. “Yes. We are.”

The guard pulled his sword out. It was a claymore sword- heavier and more brutal than hers, but slower. Emma squared her stance off, her mouth dry, but she was ready. She moved her attention mostly to the guard, as Hook still had his sword pointed at the floor.

“Tell me who sent you.”

“I already said I don’t know. If you surrender I can make it painless- you won’t even feel it.”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “If you fail to surrender, it will be painful.”

The guard sighed. “I don’t want to bother with this.”

“I’m a _princess_ ,” Emma said, throwing the words at him. “I always get what I want. Now tell me who sent you.”

He lunged- she parried the move and shoved it away from her, jumping backwards and avoiding his next strike.

“You’re quite good,” he appraised.

“So are you,” she whipped back. “You’re the furthest an assassin’s ever got. The last one died in the corridor.”

The claymore thrust at her- she dodged to the side, blocking, but the power of the blow knocked her sword through her fingers. She watched it clatter to the floor and he pulled the sword back up, touching her neck with the tip.

“Kneel,” he said.

“Please-”

“Just do it. Believe me, it’s better this way.”

As she lowered herself to the ground, she couldn’t breathe, her whole body shaking, and she didn’t know who she had been pleading to- him, or herself, or her parents, or the world at large- but she was answered. There was a heavy ‘thunk’, and the guard fell heavily to the floor in front of her. Hook knocked him out with the hilt of his sword whacking him on the head.

Emma stared up at him. “What-”

“How many assassins have you faced?”

She was blindsided and utterly off balance. Her mouth was open, watching him carefully put his sword back in its scabbard.

“Really, princess. How many?”

_My dearest princess…_

“This man, one,” she said, voice croaky. She swallowed. “Unless you count the three who were caught before they found me. Why-”

“And yet you cried when I had you.”

“I- yes-”

“But you weren’t afraid of him when he confronted you. You didn’t even flinch.”

“I hadn’t a weapon against you-”

“Why?”

She tried to stand, but her legs were wobbly from adrenaline and she had to be content with hauling herself onto the bed. Hook moved forwards, leaning in, and it was instinct to cringe away. She reminded herself she couldn’t trust him, not for a moment.

Emma unpicked her brain, tried to find a lie that held some logic and reason, but found none. The seconds she thought ticked between them, until she couldn’t stand the silence any more.

“I’m afraid of you,” she said, forcing the words out far more strongly than the sentiment.

Hook took a few steps back. She dropped her eyes to the floor, staring at the man who could have been her executioner, and at her sword across the room.

She shook her head, unable to control anything, including the words coming out of her mouth. “I thought it was what you wanted. My fear.”

“…I suppose I did.”

_I love you._

“Why have you not killed me?” The question came out smaller than she intended.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you going to?” Even smaller.

“…no. Tell me, lass- who the hell wants you dead so badly they’ve sent four assassins after you?”

“It’s political,” Emma said. Her mother had nothing to prove a link between the bordering dispute and the assassins sent in the last three months, but she was certain of it. 

She watched Hook- he could change his mind at any moment. The man had written words she couldn’t stop rattling inside her head, no matter how much she thought of something else, no matter how much she cleared her mind. How could he stand there and wonder why she was afraid?

Shaking his head, Hook turned to the door. “Good luck with that, lass-”

The room spun around her as she rushed to her feet, but she blinked heavily and tried to walk towards him anyway.

“No, wait.”

Hand on the door, his voice was flat. “I’ve got places to be, princess.”

“The letters. I want you to tell me why you sent them.”

_You might scream, but it’ll be too late._

Hook opened the door. “I don’t know what the bloody hell you mean.”

“The letters you sent me,” she said, glancing towards her desk drawers. “There were dozens.”

Hook rolled his eyes. “Princess. I haven’t sent you any letters- ever.”

She marched over to the desk, yanked open a drawer and grabbed one at random.

“ ‘My lovely Emma- you ripped out my heart so I shall rip out yours. I will make you watch as it crumbles into a thousand pieces, and you might scream but it will be too late. You’ll be dead, dearest. All my love, Captain Hook’.”

She threw it at his feet, shaking. “Are you truly telling me they don’t exist?”

He picked it up, scanning through. “What the-”

“You stalked me. You followed me- and all you can say is you never sent me any letters?”

Hook brandished the letter, eyes hard. “This isn’t my handwriting.”

“It’s signed with your name!”

“Princess,” Hook said, catching her wrist and yanking it down as she went to read another. “I didn’t. Write. These.”

She stared at him. His grip was firm, but his eyes were wide, jaw set. He saw the drawers behind her, filled with the pieces of parchment, and he recoiled, mouth falling open. She stopped resisting.

“You didn’t.”

“No.” He dropped her arm, as if hypnotised by the drawer, walking over and opening it further to pull several out. “I didn’t.”

She stumbled away from him while he read. The first time she read a letter from her ‘secret admirer’, she laughed and told her parents about it, assuring them it was fine, just an overly-zealous teenager. It was strange when she realised the courier who delivered the letters were different every time, and their origins were virtually untraceable, but nothing was too out of place until she received the fifth letter. It was angry, and unsigned, and told her she’d been seen with ‘another man’ the day before- the duke. She was being watched. The next letter was signed as ‘Captain Hook’, and every letter since had been.

Her father began the hunt anew, banning the Jolly Roger at every port in the kingdom, appealing for word from Aurora and Philip. The lower town was searched, the upper pasted with pictures of him- and yet, without fail, she received a letter every week, usually on Monday.

Sometimes it declared undying love for her. Other times it vividly outlined how she was going to die. Often it was a combination of the two.

Emma sat down on her bed, head in hands, stomach churning. She felt as though she was going to be sick.

“How is it not you?”

Hook didn’t even look up until he dropped the letters back on the desk, taking several steps away, hand over his mouth. “That’s revolting.”

“It has to be you.”

“Bloody hell, I can’t believe someone wrote that under my name.”

“Who else could it be?”

“Why the blazes would someone do that?”

Emma ran to her desk, pulling out a quill and a scrap of parchment and holding them out to him. “Write your name.”

Hook didn’t even glance her way.

She drew herself taller, slapping the quill on the desk. “Your name. _Now_.”

Breathing deeply as he dipped the quill in ink, he took a few seconds to scrawl ‘Captain Hook’ on it.

Snatching it up, she compared the two.

The letters were written in careful calligraphy. His handwriting was sloppy at best- and having been taught calligraphy, Emma knew how hard the habit was to break. They looked nothing alike- the a’s were different, the k’s far apart in style.

“Besides, princess. If I had ever written you a letter, I wouldn’t have signed it as Captain Hook.”

“You didn’t write these.”

“No. I didn’t.”

Captain Hook was a shadow behind her eyelids, creeping into her mind when she was asleep. Captain Hook was the monster under the bed, clawing her ankle and pulling her under. Captain Hook held her like a trapped bird in his hands.

She sat at the desk’s chair. “What would you have signed it as?”

“Killian Jones, of course. It would’ve been more fitting.”

She did not understand what he meant, but she did not care to ask.

“You need to leave.” She stood up. “Go. I’ll deal with-” she gestured to the still-limp guard on the floor, “-him.”

“I came here to kill you,” he said slowly, “and you’re throwing me out?”

The humour of the situation wasn’t lost on her, but she didn’t acknowledge it. “I daresay you would have killed me already if you were going to,” she said, throwing the letters back into the desk.

“You can’t just-”

“Watch me,” she said, walking straight towards him and forcing him to retreat backwards until he hit the door. “Out.”

He looked her up and down, watching her intently, but his hand found the door handle and he disappeared as swiftly as shadows make themselves known.

She snapped the lock shut, leaning against it and staring at the not-guard sprawled across the floor.

She wasn’t sure how long she did so, or if she actually thought of anything in that time, but when she pulled herself away from the door she found herself marching over to the guard. Taking the man’s arms and dragging his limp body to her four poster bed to prop him against it, she wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing. She took his handcuffs off his belt and pulled back his sleeves, revealing a thick, black tattoo of a snake wriggling around his wrist and along his forearm. She snapped the handcuffs onto him, hand either side of the bar of her bed to keep him there.

Swallowing, turning back to her room, she glanced around. Picking up the necklace she’d thrown on the floor, she lay it back on the desk and neatened her bed up. Propping all the weapons the guard had on the wall opposite him, she picked up her own sword, examining it.

It was undamaged. She retrieved her scabbard, the blade gliding back into it, and placing on her desk. She opened her wardrobe, putting her bow and quiver of freshly feathered arrows next to it.

As though hypnotized, she pulled out various articles of clothing, ignoring anything special, opting for the clothes she hadn’t touched in months to go through the city in, her tunics and breeches and sturdy leather boots.

Her nightmares weren’t real, but the letters were. Someone wrote them, melting wax to seal it and letting the wax dry, unstamped and signed by the wrong name. They sought her out to scare her, the anger unjustifiable.

She clenched her jaw, carrying is all to her desk and dumping the bodice on the seat, kneeling to unlace it.

No more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support on the first chapter! Thanks for the comments captainflyte, acasto03 and Kiwistreetswan, and all the kudos' and views. It was kinda overwhelming, to be honest :)


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma sets out to find the writer. She finds Hook at her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do want to post on Saturdays, I'm just too excited. Sorry guys :P at least I don't post late?

Emma swallowed, keeping her head bowed and thick cloak wrapped around herself as she darted down the alleyways of her city. She was grateful it was all familiar, even if she had abandoned it for too long.

Turning a corner past a bar, she was aware of footsteps behind her. She quickened her pace. they only joined her. Glancing up, she saw another turn- she made it, yanking out her dagger and throwing it up to the throat of the next person who turned the corner, shoving him against the wall.

“Can I- _Hook_?” she said, jaw slack before she pressed the blade in more firmly. She didn’t have to remind herself to be afraid. He grinned at her. “What do you want?”

He shrugged, relaxing into the wall as though he’d chosen to be there. “I was just wondering what you were doing, out so late.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That’s the truth.”

“It isn’t.” She pressed in harder, glaring at him.

He huffed, the sharp edge biting into his skin. “Fine. I followed you. I stayed in the palace and followed you out because I was wondering what you were doing.”

“Why did you stay in palace?”

“My own reasons.”

“Were you going to hurt someone?”

“No.”

She weighed him up, finally letting him go. He gestured to her as she swept aside her cloak to replace her dagger.

“You look rather fetching in that, princess.”

She ignored him, checking everything was still in place. She didn’t care for her appearance; it wasn’t the point, all plain creams and browns in her breeches and loose tunic and boots. Her weapons mattered. Sword, bow and quiver of arrows, an assortment of daggers, and even a pistol borrowed from the armoury in the palace were carefully placed about her person. The hidden pocket inside her cloak was untouched, and it held a few handfuls of gold coins.

He frowned, taking in her vast weaponry, watching her closely. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

“What are you doing?”

“Finding whoever is sending me those letters.”

She turned from him, marching north-east. She hoped to make it to the lower town before all the bars were shut.

He hurried after her.

“Is that really a good idea?”

“Yes.”

As soon as his hand touched her shoulder, she grabbed it and twisted it away from her. Hook yelped, shaking her off.

“What was that for?” he said, cradling his hand to his chest.

“Never be mistaken in believing you are allowed to touch me,” she said. She’d had enough of that for a lifetime on board his ship.

She carried on marching, and with reasoning she could not fathom, he carried on following.

“What are you going to do?”

“None of your business.”

He slowed down, massaging his temples. “Have you _read_ those letters? The man’s a lunatic-”

“He’s a coward,” she said, pausing to decide whether to go down a darker alleyway to the right or a brighter street ahead. She chose the alleyway.

“How are you even going to find him?”

She stopped, throwing her back to face the heavens and exhale loudly. “I have no idea.”

“And how is that… in any way a good plan?”

“It’s not. But I don’t need a good plan, I just need to do something. I’ve been sat in my room waiting to die for longer than I care to admit.”

He swallowed, checking either end of the alley to make sure they were still alone. “You need a plan.”

“I have half a plan.”

“Half a plan?”

“Whoever is orchestrating this knows about you, and my fear of you. So I’m starting there. There’s not many who even know I was taken, much less the details.”

“It’s common knowledge you’re afraid of me?”

Emma squinted at him. “Did you…? It’s not common knowledge. That’s why it’s my starting point. Because it narrows my search.”

Hooks rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“I’m afraid I truly don’t.”

“How does anyone know you fear me?”

Emma crossed her arms, her cheeks hot. “I have nightmares.”

“And the maids gossip?”

“Something like that.”

“So your plan is… what?”

“Well, whoever it is must be in the palace, no one else knows, so I can’t trust anyone here- I have to leave, find proof, and have them arrested. Besides, the assassins are getting better. I need to disappear.”

“Won’t your beloved parents worry?”

Emma did her best not to extend any empathy for them. She was protecting herself, even though they might not understand that.

“I left them a note.”

It explained who the handcuffed man was and that she was safe, on a mission to find the man who was sending her the letters because her suspicions were not limited to Hook now, for reasons she couldn’t explain.

Upon discovering it, her parents would send out search parties across the entire kingdom.

Hook seemed to detect her verbal evasion as well as she found his, but unlike her, he did not seem to understand how to move past it. “What would they say to you?”  
She cast her mind to her parents. “They’d tell me to take knights, to protect me.”

Hook considered her, whilst she stared back with watchful eyes. Then, with a flourish of his hook, he bowed. 

“Sir Killian Jones, milady.”

She waited.

“Of a sort, anyway,” he said, standing upright. “I offer my ship and my services to help you find this lunatic.”

Emma glancing him up and down. “What do you want in return?”

“My good name no longer besmirched by an evil writer. A full pardon for me and my crew for accidentally kidnapping the princess.” She glared at him, so he shrugged. “I didn’t know I was doing it, did I?”

“…and?”

He grinned. “Gold.”

“And in return you’ll follow me- wherever this leads?”

“Look lass, it’s a real nuisance not being able to make port here. There are some really good bars.”

Emma threw her head back, praying to every deity she knew of that her choices weren’t so poor she would end up dead anyway, and accepted his help. In turn, it meant that she was afforded to luxury of following him, able to keep both eyes on him at all times. He seemed amused that she wouldn’t walk beside him, but she kept a steady eye on his hook, winking at her in the moonlight.

She flinched, trying to shake the image out of her head, but she knew it would follow her into her dreams that night.

“Where is your ship?” she whispered, the deadened streets somehow pulling her to quietness. Hook didn’t feel the same, speaking at normal- _loud_ \- volumes.

“I can’t exactly waltz up to any ports in the Northern Kingdom, can I?” he said, pointing east. “It’s at a village, twelve miles through the edge of the Enchanted Forest.” 

“You walked twelve miles just to kill me?”

The fact his very reason for being there was to avenge his dead men had not escaped her, and he was taking her back to their living counterparts also had not.

Hook rolled his eyes. “Lass, I paid for a horse. And I was thinking we could do the same again.”

“I’m not sure we’ll be able to get one until morning.”

“We don’t have to wait,” Hook said, shrugging.

Emma didn’t quite understand what he meant until they reached the stables of the couriers, and he jimmied the lock open.

“This is stealing,” she said, and Hook raised an eyebrow.

“ _Pirate_ ,” he said, pointing at himself.

After he’d led his horse out, Emma left a few gold pieces on the side.

She considered herself to be as skilled as her parents on horseback, though not as experienced, and she easily pulled herself onto the back of her grey mare, Hook already atop his stallion. She often forgot the comforts of being a princess- saddles fitted to her particular requirements, for example. Shifting a little in her seat, she clicked her heels together and followed after Hook in a gentle trot.

“We should be sailing by dawn,” he said over his shoulder, voice low despite the relatively loud clapping of hooves on cobblestones.

They reached the dirt paths leading into the forest, but Emma insisted they not slow down. Cara would discover she was missing after sunrise, and if not her someone else sooner. It was best to get as much distance as possible.

The forest was darker than Emma liked, and the cover of leaves above them shrouded them away from moonlight as the trees became denser, but Hook seemed at ease with the darkness.

Two hours passed, and aside from the rustle of wind through leaves and the cries of wolves and hoots of owls there was no noise at all. Hook nor Emma spoke a word, and although her unease was growing she daren’t break their silence.

He seemed unperturbed doing so, making her jump- lulled into drowsiness by their pace and quiet. 

“Tell me princess,” he said, pulling on the reins and levelling his horse with hers, “how did you manage to convince me you were a maid? I’m an apt liar myself, but you slipped through my fingers.”

Emma kept her eyes to the nearby trees, more alert to danger than before. “I have the ability to know when someone is lying to me, and in turn it means I can lie well. I know all the signs of deception.”

“It’s a trick?”

“More a gift.”

She glanced across, and he was watching her, waiting for elaboration. “I can’t explain it. Something in my stomach churns when a person lies, more so when I’m in danger.”

“That sounds like instinct.”

“Instinct that saved my life on your ship,” she shot at him, and he smirked.

“I wouldn’t have killed you.”

“You might have tonight.”

At that, Hook twisted his lips together, slight smile in place. “I might have.”

Twenty metres passed, and Emma was so still and quiet on her horse she could hear her heartbeat thrumming in her ears. Hook seemed oblivious to her discomfort, but his quiet was welcome. 

He eyed the darkness between the trees himself, but Emma was drawn in by a widening in the path ahead. She pointed to it, and Hook nodded.

One hand on the reigns, the other on the hilt of her sword, Emma wasn’t prepared for the tree-trunk sized logs dropping from above and bouncing on the floor in front of them. The horses started, rearing; Emma was thrown off backwards. Flat on her back, she gasped for air. A pistol fired and she forced herself to sitting even though she couldn’t quite focus properly. 

Hook had also lost his horse but was standing and fighting two bandits, one already at his feet, bloody and unmoving. Two more were bearing down on her from a thicket in the trees and a third charging at Hook.

Grabbing her pistol, Emma pointed and shot at one running at her; he fell, his body tripping the other over. She threw herself on bended knee, dropping the pistol. Arrow loaded into bow, she snagged one of Hook’s attackers in the back. She’d pierced his heart.

Her father taught her swords and close combat, but only her mother could the bow and arrow.

The man who’d fallen scrambled to his feet, drawing his sword with wild venom; new arrow pulled from the quiver and loaded, she pointed it at him and he stopped dead five metres from her.

“If you run, you’ll live,” she breathed.

Behind him, his comrade fell by Hook’s sword slashing across his chest. The final fighter reached Hook and hacked at him, Hook barely meeting the strikes. He hadn’t the time to gain the upper hand, his sword struck out of his hand when only a few seconds had passed. Without even making a conscious decision to do so, Emma shifted her aim from the heart of the man in front of her to Hook’s attacker. Her arrow pierced the side he held his sword with- he fell before he could land a blow, yelping in agony, and Emma threw her bow up in two hands above her head to block the falling sword.

The block was enough to dampen the blow, but her bow cracked. Emma threw it aside, yanking a dagger from her belt and slashing across the man’s shins. Rolling away and standing, the bandit was already swiping at her. She leaped back, and he advanced on her, his lip curled. She had no idea what she looked like.

His tactics- or lack thereof- were to have power, not speed. She dodged three of his strikes and tried to block the fourth, but she underestimated its force. 

Instead of blocking the blow, the dagger threw his sword upwards, slicing through her upper arm. She roared in pain and stabbed straight, plunging her dagger into his undefended stomach.

He stared into her eyes, and when she twisted the handle he lost sight, and crumbled to her feet.

Staggering away, she threaded her dagger back in its place and pressed her hand against the wound painfully hard, sliding down the side of tree to sitting.

Hook hovered above her.

“Bandages?” she asked, biting her lip and face crumpling. Her hand was slick with blood.

He knelt next to her, ripping off the sleeve of her ruined shirt with his hook. “These will do.”

She nodded, grabbing a nearby stick and biting down on it while he staunched her bleeding and tied the shirt in place. Wordlessly, he took the other arm’s sleeve to do the same. Minutes later, when he was finally finished, Emma’s chest was heaving, still breathing hard.

“You owe me a shirt,” she said, wiping her hand on the one she wearing before accepting his to help her stand.

The blood seeped through the makeshift bandages, but she could not do anything except hope she would not bleed out.

Brow creased and head tilted, he watched her dust herself off.

“Why did you do that?”

“What?”

“Save me.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I don’t want you dead. Believe it or not.”

He brushed off her slight without so much a blink. “You could’ve- nearly did- die.”

“Yes.”

She picked up her dropped pistol, reloading it, and examined her cracked bow. It would hold for a while, but another direct blow would destroy it. 

One of Hook’s casualties still whimpered.

“You could’ve left me.”

Emma stopped, huffing an exhale. “Yet, I didn’t.”

“Why?”

Emma looked at him like he was possibly the most slimy, miserable worm she’d ever had the misfortune of digging out of the dirt. “Perhaps it was honour. Perhaps it was stupidity. They’re not so different- or perhaps, Hook, it was merely the right thing to do.”

He blinked.

“You saved me from the assassin not hours ago. Why did you do that?”

“It would’ve been bad form,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Exactly.” She turned to walk on, but she stopped herself. “And you lied, before. When you said you ‘might have’ killed me tonight. So either you were going to kill me, or you never were. Now, shall we walk?”

The horses had long run away, and their pace was slow. Hook answered neither question, and they fell into silence as they walked. Soon, it was Hook’s turn to be unable to bear the quiet.

“I didn’t know royalty were so vicious, princess.”

“What do you mean?”

“You killed those men.”

“They were going to kill me. And I gave the last a chance to run, and he didn’t take it.”

Her father had taught her to care and respect the lives of those around her, but to respect her own more. In fights to the death, she was fighting to win.

“You did?”

“You were too busy losing your fight to notice,” she said, biting her lip to try and not smirk at his genuine surprise.

“I was fighting four of them, _princess_ ,” he said, glaring at her.

“Yes, and I dealt with two of them for you, _pirate_. You’re welcome.”

Dropping the glare, he watched her, head tilted to the side. “You’re not at all what I expected from royalty.”

In her experience, royalty was a label attached to anyone with the correct parentage. It did not indicate merit or worth.

“Not all kings and queens are borne equal,” Emma said, thinking of her father. He was raised a farmboy, and became a king because he loved an outlaw.

At that, Hook cast his look to the ground.

“What? Have you met any royalty before me?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“Kings will do anything to keep their power, princess,” Hook said, his smile twisted and hands shoved in his pockets. “To gain more. They can’t be trusted.”

Emma considered him. “Some, yes. Not all.”

“How many kings have you met?”

“Many.”

“And how many would you say you respected as a leader?”

“Several. Like I said, not all of us are equal in our good intentions. That does not mean those who have good intentions should cease trying.”

“You’re all the same.” 

Emma blinked at the venom in his voice. “You just said I was not what you expected.” 

“From a princess. Princesses are supposed to be graceful and sweet and kind.”

“I can be all of those things,” Emma said with a cocked eyebrow. “It does not mean I cannot kill or lie or cheat.”

“No, you’re-”

“Don’t presume you know me well enough to tell me what I am capable of or who I am,” Emma warned.

He glowered at the path ahead. Emma sighed, looking too. She did not understand his conviction all royalty were terrible people, but it felt all too personal. She didn’t dare ask. “You aren’t leading me into a trap, are you?”

Hook bit his cheek, shooting a dark look at her. “No, I’m not.”

True.

They did not speak for the next two hours they walked. Emma ignored the blood oozing through the bandages and running down the length of her arm to drip off the tips of her fingers. 

Reaching a small docking town, Emma only realised how exhausted she was when Hook told her they had five minutes until they reached the ship. She was moving slower, only nodding in reply, and she had to shake herself awake.

“Will they know who I am?”

“I never told them my suspicions about you, but they will recognise you. I’ll do the talking.”

Emma shivered, nodding. She wrapped her cloak around her shoulders, head down as they weaved through the dockside marketplace, already full of stalls of fish and locals. Emma had never seen so many colours, sizes and shapes of fish before- the abundant magenta, fist-sized octopus staring up at her, bright green lobsters the length of her legs with pincers snapped tightly together with rope, and tiny, coral fish no bigger than her little finger, sold in handfuls at a time.

Emma wondered if this village was untouched by regular royal officers, and used the Jolly Roger’s presence because under the pale blue sky, just beginning to lighten with the rising sun, its vast mast towered above them all.

Hook strode across the gangplank, Emma treading carefully after him. It stayed steady, but she didn’t trust it for a second, and she surveyed the ship she’d been dragged on to all those months ago.

There were few crew members around, and so Hook led her straight her into his quarters. Shutting the door behind her, she stood at the fringes of the room and watched him. He headed towards the trunk at the end of his bed, heaving its lid open and rummaging through it.

He tossed her a plain white shirt and she caught it with her working hand. He slammed the trunk shut again, moving to his desk draw, bringing out real bandages, a needle and thread, indicating she sit on the bed.

Pulling her cloak off and draping it over the bedpost with the shirt, she perched on the edge of it. He leaned over, pulling a dagger out of her belt. She tensed but he only used it to sever her makeshift bandages off, unwinding them. Hook ignored her reaction, dropping the dagger on the bed and unwinding the bandages from her arm. Fresh blood pulsed out of her wound as they fell away, and she bit down on her lip.

“Don’t move,” he warned, threaded needle hovering above her wound, and she glared at him.

“I know.”

She didn’t make a sound, or move, knowing the first would be the worst, every thread dulling her to pain more than the last. Tightening the stitches and tying them off, he picked up the bandages.

“This is nasty,” he said, positioning the fresh linen on her outstretched arm.

“It feels that way,” she said, wincing at the pressure. She’d let her guard down. “Son of a bitch.”

Hook wound them until they ran out, not even a speck of blood showing through, and he tied the ends together with a double knot to ensure it wouldn’t move.

She let her arm rest, but she couldn’t unclench her stomach. “Thank you.”

Hook nodded, standing and pointing at the shirt. He didn’t look at her. “You can have that. The shirt I owe you.”

Emma picked it up. “Is there somewhere I can change?”

“In here. I’ll leave you,” he said, heading towards the door, his hand pausing on the handle, but he didn’t say any more and left.

She frowned after him, fumbling to unlace her bodice until she shook her head, forcing herself to concentrate on it. Replacing her torn shirt with the new one, she noticed the latter smelled of another woman’s perfume, its fit a little baggy but reasonably so and it was not covered in blood, so she could not complain.

She wondered who the woman was. She wondered if Hook would even remember her name.

Bodice nearly in place once again, her weapons strewn across the bed, Hook knocked. She called him in, concentrating on threading the laces in the final holes.

He didn’t speak, and she glanced up- he was smirking, watching her.

“Don’t voice anything you’re thinking,” she said, yanking the laces into a tight bow and tucking them out of sight. “What are we telling your crew?”

“I have a plan, lass. Come on.”

He took hold of the wrist on her good arm and pulled her out of the door before she even had chance to object. The deck was abuzz with activity, supplies being loaded on fresh from the market and the ship’s many mechanisms being pulled, pushed, tied up, or locked into position. Trying not to trip over her feet at Hook’s pace, she followed him up the steps and in front of the mast, where Hook yelled for their attention.

“OI! You scallywags!”

Most of them stopped and turned, a few ignoring him.

“You may have noticed we have a guest with us today,” Hook said, holding Emma’s wrist up and finally dropping it. There were jeers and laughs. “As you all know, I visited a certain royal family last night.

“It turns out the reason we are so- _unfairly_ \- hunted by the king and queen is not our fault. Someone has been sending letters threatening the princess under my name. Fortunately, we came to an agreement. If we find the person responsible for the letters, we will have a full pardon decreed by the princess herself, able to sail in their waters again. And gold. Lots of it.”

Cheers and grins rippled through the waiting crowd.

“Which brings me to this lovely lass, some of you may recognise her,” Hook said. She swallowed, playing with the sleeve of shirt. “She’s the princess’ maid. She’s here as an ambassador for the princess- no harm is to come to her, or we don’t get anything.”

“Kings lie,” yelled one. “What if they don’t give us the gold?”

Hook grinned, pulling Emma into his side with his hooked arm. “Then the girl’s ours.”

“I’m not a bargaining chip,” Emma said under her breath, the men nodding in approval.

“Of course you are,” Hook said, equally as quiet. Dropping her, he addressed the pirates and waved them away. “Now back to work, you lazy sods.”

She took a deep breath, trying to keep her breath even. Their gold was at stake, they would not risk hurting her.

They both turned, heading back to his quarters. On the way, Hook grabbed the man Emma remembered as Smee and dragged him with them. Shutting the door behind them, Hook pointed at Smee.

“Keep an eye on the men for the next days. Report back to me if there’s any dissent.”

“Yes, Captain,” Smee said, nodding his head and bowing as he left the room.

Emma turned her back on Hook, taking her daggers and replacing them in her belt and the hidden compartments in her boots.

“Should I worry for my safety?”

“No. If you’re in here, you should be safe.” 

Emma pursed her lips, and shook her head. “I shall worry anyway. They’re not bright, to believe your story.”

Hook huffed out a laugh, unsmiling. “Are you dissatisfied with my crew?”

“No. My treatment on this ship has, thus far, been markedly better than my last stay,” she said. He said nothing, and she didn’t care to see his face. Instead, she folded her cloak overly carefully, placing it at the end of the bed.

“There’s a bed through there.” He gestured to a door she hadn’t noticed behind him. “You should probably rest. It’s been a long day.”

She nodded. Collecting her belongings together, she found herself in repurposed servant’s quarters. It was every bit as generously decorated as his room was, but it was no bigger than her closet at home. She sat on the bed, lent against the wall with her knees against her chest and dagger in hand, staring at the door. She had no intention of falling asleep, but her sleepless night and blood loss pulled her lids closed, inviting her into their world of darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no one asked but I got a Ginny Goodwin haircut this week and I look so goooood
> 
> Thank you for the reviews Elaine_ORoake, KiwistreetSwan, acasto03 and brandidog, they made my day :)


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On board the Jolly Roger, Emma and Hook are forced to work together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who finally uploaded on the day she said she would? DIS GIRL

Emma woke at midday to the sound of screams- her own.

Her bleary eyes hadn’t the time to focus as they flew open, only knowing the shape in front of her was a person- she didn’t understand the dagger in her hand, raised high above her head, but she was grateful for it.

“Stop! Stop! Princess, calm down-“

Blinking rapidly, Emma found Hook in front of her, hand held out to her in a calming gesture, stare measuring her as though she were a wounded animal.

“-are you alright?”

Gasping for air, Emma stared into his eyes until she levelled her breathing, able to think more coherently. The dagger fell to her side, and Hook dropped his hand, exhaling. 

“Yes. I’m fine.” She realised she had tears on her cheeks. She threw the dagger onto the pillow, wiping the tears and the cold sweat on her brow away.

“You were screaming.”

She’d pushed herself to resting on the balls of her feet on the bed sometime waking and not, and she dropped backwards against the wall. 

“Yes. It’s the nightmares.” She concentrated on flexing her hands, trying to ease the shaking.

Hook nodded, hand running through his hair. “I thought one of the crew had slipped through my fingers and was killing you in here.”

Emma was too tired to summon a smile. “The only murder was in my head.”

Probably. She could never remember her dreams, only pieces. Hands replaced by hooks. Blood. A smirk tearing at her soul. Every time she fell asleep.

“You were worried about them? Lass, I told you not to-”

“It wasn’t your crew,” Emma said, closing her eyes, exhaustion so overwhelming she felt she was being dragged back into unconscious.

“Then who-”

Staring ahead and unseeing, she didn’t hesitate to interrupt. “You. It’s always you.”

Hook flinched.

“I don’t ever remember the dreams. I just wake up screaming with your face stuck in my head.” She tried to blink away the image pressed into her eyelids. “I’m sorry to have caused you concern.”

“Don’t be- your nightmares are of me?”

Emma pressed her fingers to her temples.

“The letters started coming, and it was as though you wouldn’t leave me alone. Even when I slept.”

He watched her until she pulled herself out of her dazed trance, looking to the floor. 

She cleared her throat. “Thank you for making sure I was not dead.”

He nodded, turning on his heel and leaving her.

She lowered herself onto her side and lay on the bed, rocking with the waves beneath the ship as she returned her heart rate and breathing to normal. She let the fear wash over her, like a breeze ebbing away as softly as it came. She pulled herself to her feet when she felt well enough to do so.

Distraction, she found, kept her symptoms at bay. It was enough for her.

She nodded at Hook as she passed him, leaving the Captain’s quarters. She climbed the steps to the front of the boat. Land was far behind them already, and Emma had never seen so much sea. She leaned against the barrier of the ship on her elbows.

“Good view, isn’t it?”

She turned, and one of the crew had paused in his efforts to scrub the deck to look out.

“Yes, it is.”

He smiled, not at her but the sea. “It’s my favourite part of this job.”

“Cleaning?”

Squinting at her, the corners of his mouth turned upward. “Endless possibility.”

Emma gazed out. “It looks easy to get lost in.”

“Very. Doesn’t mean you won’t get found, though.” He picked up the rag and carried on his work. “I’m Hiroki Saito, by the way. You’re Mary Margaret, aren’t you? I still remember when you floored Jenkins. Spectacular.”

Emma frowned. “Yes, I am. I’m not sure punching someone warrants a congratulations, though.”

“Your punch did. You didn’t seem to put any effort into it,” Saito said, grinning.

Emma turned back to the sea. “It wasn’t effortless, but thank you anyway, I suppose. Is Jenkins around somewhere? I don’t want to be surprised.”

“No, no, he left a couple of months back.”

“He left? Why?”

“We gave him what we like to think of as forcible encouragement.”

Emma frowned. 

Saito shrugged. “We threw him into shallow waters off the coast of… somewhere.”

“…that doesn’t seem particularly friendly.”

“It was fine, he could swim to shore, and anyway, he pissed off the Captain.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. Asked too many questions and didn’t get on with the job. He pissed me off because he couldn’t hold a decent conversation about anything except gold or gambling.”

“Minimal intelligence?”

“As the son of a scholar, I like to think I can judge his intelligence enough to confirm that. I have nineteen years of personal tutoring behind me,” Saito said, crawling to reach more floor.

She wondered how often he’d scrubbed that same square foot of floor, and if he’d always done it with such vigour. “What made you get on this ship?”

“Endless possibility, of course,” he said with a smile.

“The lure of adventure and gold. I can see the appeal of adventure.”

“Not gold?”

Emma thought of her jewellery box, of the diamonds and rubies and sapphires, of the tiaras and brooches and hair combs gifted to her by strangers for nothing more than her title.

“No. But endless possibility does sound wonderful.”

Saito nodded. “It is. Can you imagine? The princess has dealt us a hand we could’ve thought was never possible. That much money...”

Emma’s eyebrow rose, crossing her arms. “Of course.”

“Not in that way. I’ll be able to afford the dowry of the woman I love.” Saito said, the lines around his eyes softening his face as he smiled. “Everything has changed so fast.”

“What’s her name?”

“Annalise. She’s the daughter of a blacksmith. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Quite right too. Do you miss her?”

“I heard from her last week. It only made me miss her more.”

Emma thought for a moment, considering what he’d said.

“But how does she contact you? Surely she can’t know where you’ll make port?”

Saito smiled. “We have our ways. What about you? Do you have anyone special?”

Emma took a deep breath, thinking of her promise only the day before to marry Cicero. She wondered what he’d do on the discovery she’d disappeared. “I’ve never met a man that’s waltzed into my life and I’ve thought that I couldn’t possibly forget him.”

“Yes, that’s how it seems,” Saito said, sighing wistfully.

“It’s how my parents described it.”

Mr Smee, the one Emma remembered as being Hook’s right hand man and not completely terrible, approached her.

“Captain’s orders, miss- you’re to return to his quarters. We’re heading towards a storm, and he can’t have you in the way.”

Emma nodded, smiling at Saito. “It was nice meeting you.”

“You too.”

Hook had left his quarters, and so Emma sat at his desk, alone. The ship begin to rock more heavily, rain breaking against the ceiling. She pulled open a drawer, soon finding a quill, fresh ink and plain parchment to write on- she only needed a scrap.

She wrote the names of everyone who knew Hook had kidnapped her. Her parents, Sir Lawrence and the rest of the knights, and Cara. 

Emma met Cara quite by chance in the market, five years before. Cara was searching for a job, and Emma knew of one in the palace kitchens. Emma enjoyed spending time the kitchens anyway, but Cara felt like the sister she’d longed for as a younger girl, and after a time Emma asked her to become her personal maid. Emma entrusted her with a number of secrets over the years, so despite being the most likely candidate, Emma could not think it likely at all.

She slumped back in the seat, folding up the list and pocketing it. She tidied the desk to as it was before she touched it, and tucked the chair back under the desk as the door behind her opened.

She turned, nodding her head at Hook and leaning back against the chair as he stood, utterly soaked, in the doorway.

“Where are going? You have not said where we’re headed,” Emma said.

“Through this storm,” he said, eyes narrowed as he swiped hair out of them. “And then we’ll head towards Portland’s Cove. Were you looking through my letters?”

“I would never do that,” she said. “I was writing, and I did not look at anything already written on. Why Portland’s Cove?”

“I know a woman who lives there. She may know something of threats made against you,” he said, tossing his leather coat on his bed and shaking out his hair.

“What’s her name?”

Hook smirked. “I think she’d rather I didn’t tell you her name. It would be bad for business.”

“What is her business?”

“A brothel.”

“How can a brothel owner help us?” she asked, brow furrowed.

Hook shrugged. “Men talk in that place. She knows all sorts of things about all sorts of things.”

“What do you call her?”

“Madame. Why?”

“I’d like to know how to address her when I meet her,” Emma said. “It’s good etiquette.”

Hook shook his head. “I’m sorry lass, did I not make this clear? You’re not leaving this ship. I’ll talk to her, she trusts me, and I’ll relay everything she says to you.”

Emma ground her teeth together, but resisted the urge to snap at him. “As generous as I am, Hook, I do not trust you to tell me the truth, and besides, this is my life. I want to know why someone has threatened to end it.”

“Portland’s Cove isn’t a safe place.”

“And aboard your ship is?”

Hook tutted. “And I suppose, because you’re a princess, I have to do as you say?”

“No. You _should_ do as I say because you know I am right.”

Hook looked her up and down, breathing deeply before huffing. “Fine. But you’ll have to stick close to me, understand? And you should bring your pistol.”

“What about my sword and dagger?” she asked, and he nodded.

“Probably best to have those too. If you die,” he said, finger pointed at her, “I will take no responsibility for it.”

Emma knew an amendment was necessary. “Unless you stab me yourself.”

“You’re worth gold to me,” he said with a grin. “You’d have to really annoy me to make me kill you.”

“I’ll try not to annoy you, then,” Emma said, and Hook chuckled- she left him to change.

***

As much as she loathed to admit it, Emma could not bring herself to take her hand off her sword, ready to yank it out at a moment’s notice.

After an uncomfortable day and sleepless night of enduring the storm, the fifteen hours of sailing Hook had hoped for becoming twenty three, Emma thought she was grateful for the few hours’ plain sailing to Portland’s Cove, but the place was less than welcoming. The streets were filthy, rats scurrying form the corner of one house to another, past beggars that seemed to line the streets (‘half of them will kill you if you get too close’ Hook told her in a low voice) and merchants that seemed to have more slimy smiles than worthwhile produce. The grey stone buildings all had their windows boarded up by rotting planks of wood, nothing like the cream stone buildings of home.

Emma was grateful Hook seemed as keen to keep her close as she was to stay close to him. She kept her eyes down and moved as fast as he did, ignoring the leering eyes of a few. Although Hook stood tall and took great strides, Emma could see he eyed every person who came near, throwing glance over their shoulders in new streets until they drew up outside a door. Hook rapped on it three times.

The door opened a fraction, a pair of eyes peeking around the side of it and flicking between the two of them. After a few seconds, the door flew open and a young woman  
grabbed Hook to yank him inside. Emma hurried after him, and the door was slammed shut behind her.

“It’s been a long time, Killian,” she said, bouncing on her heels and grinning. Her eyes found Emma. “And who is this?”

“I’m Mary Margaret,” Emma said, staring quite deliberately into the girl’s eyes instead of her unnervingly unclothed body. “It’s good to meet you.”

“You too,” the girl said. She turned back to Hook. “You know the way to Madame, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Hook said, kissing her hand. “Have a good day, Lisette.”

“You too.”

She winked and walked away, turning down a corridor. Hook immediately began to climb the stairs to their left. The dim lighting and creaking floorboards kept Emma close to him, and after a series of turns that disorientated Emma more than she could have imagined, Hook rapped on another door. A large, tall woman opened it.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Killian Jones,” the woman said, eyebrow raised. “It’s been a long time.”

“Madame, it’s always a pleasure,” he said, bowing his head to kiss her hand. “How are you?”

“No one has tried anything particularly audacious, if that’s what you’re asking. And who are you?”

Her tone dropped in warmth tenfold as she turned to Emma.

“Are you Killian’s girl?”

Hook shook his head, “no. She’s the reason for my visit, actually. May we come in?”

Emma watched Madame inspect her. “Only because I trust you, Killian.”

The door shut behind them, and Madame sat opposite them.

“You’re not bringing her to me to take in, are you?” Madame asked, and Hook barked out a laugh.

“No, I’m not.”

“Good. She wouldn’t be able to stomach it.”

“You’re probably quite right, Madame,” Emma said, tone cool.

Madame folded her arms. “She would scare off the customers.”

“That’s why she’s in here, not out there,” Hook said, shooting her a look. “Madame, I was hoping to ask something of you.

“What?”

“Concerning rumours. Delicate rumours, you understand.”

Madame leant across the desk, pointing her finger at him. “This is the last time I give you information for free. I owe you nothing after this.”

Hook waved her away. “Fine. Has there been any mention of the princess of the Enchanted Forest, daughter of Snow White?”

“Emma? Some have mentioned her, yes.”

“Who?”

Madame watched Emma through narrow eyes. “Why?”

“In a convoluted way… the princess and I now share a problem, and we’ve chosen to work together. This is her ambassador, Mary Margaret. We need to know what you know.”

“I’ve heard three rumours,” Madame said, tossing her long hair aside. “The first was the princess’ life had some kind of price, although it wasn’t very high, and that’s been said a few times now. The second was her life in a danger of some kind, that there were strange letters being sent to her.”

“What kind of letters?” Emma asked. Madame snorted at her.

“Uncomfortable ones.”

Hook’s eyes warned Emma to back off. “Who sent them?”

Madame shrugged. “That’s what he was saying. It was frustrating him that he didn’t know who was sending them, because it was the reason for a huge increase of security in the Northern Kingdom and it made it much more difficult for him to operate. He tried to track the writer down, but he couldn’t trace him.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“You know I can’t tell you,” Madame said, admiring her fingernails.

“Worth a shot,” Hook muttered. “And the third?”

Madame lent forward. “It’s odd, but it comes from Gavrilo, which the only reason I mention it.”

Hook nodded, the name seeming to mean something to him as he lent in curiously.

“There were a few hired to steal her heart, although as far as I can tell none of them have succeeded or even been seen since they left to attempt it.”

“Did he know why someone wanted to take her heart?”

“No idea,” Madame said. “I think Gavrilo took the job himself. He said it had a high reward.”

“What does Gavrilo look like?”

Hook and Madame turned to look at Emma, but she just gave a half shrug.

“Just curious.”

“I’ve never met him,” Hook said, turning to Madame.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Does he have a tattoo?” Emma said. “A snake, around his wrist and up his arm?”

Madame stared dead into her eyes. “No.”

_Lie._

Emma slumped in her seat. “Fine.”

“Nothing more about the letters?” Hook said.

“That one man is the only person I’ve heard of it from.”

“Well, thank you,” Hook said, standing. “I think we’ve taken up far too much of your time.”

Emma followed suit. “Yes, we have.”

Madame pointed at Emma. “You should keep her on a tight leash. She’ll get you in trouble.”

Hook laughed. “Believe me, I know.”

Before Emma could argue, he’d caught her arm with his hook and dragged her out, shutting the door behind them.

“Does she always speak about people so rudely in front of them?” Emma said, stumbling. He’d already started off and she chased after him, his finding the stairs an impossibility for her.

“Yes. I’m the great exception,” Hook said, throwing a grin over his shoulder at her. “She speaks rudely of me behind my back.”

“She lied,” Emma said, stepping through the front door as Hook held it open for her.

Hook shut it behind them. “What?”

“About the snake tattoo.”

“Yes, I did mean to ask- where the bloody hell did that question come from?”

Emma couldn’t make him understand fast enough. “At the palace, the assassin dressed as a guard that interrupted us, the one you met. He had a snake tattooed on his arm, and she lied about Gavrilo not having the tattoo. Gavrilo locked up in my dungeons at this very moment.”

Hook thought for a moment, shaking his head. “So?”

“He said something strange about it ‘being better that way’. I should _rather_ being dead. I couldn’t understand why he said it, but it makes sense of it. There’s a price for my heart.” 

Hook still looked confused, but Emma didn’t mind so much. She was only just working it out herself. 

“O…kay?”

Emma exhaled, running her hands through her hair. “But that’s strange, isn’t it? The heart is a strange target for a border dispute, normally I would merely be dead.” Emma scratched her arms absently. “We learnt nothing new about the letters, which I’m sorry for. But I must talk to my parents about it when I return.”

“No, we didn’t learn anything.” Hook tugged on her shirt, glancing around. “Best get back to the ship, lass.”

Emma saw several people eyeing them up, and nodded, sidling up to his side.

They didn’t speak as they walked, Emma aware of the eyes on them and Hook aware of the eyes darting away when he caught them looking. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She tensed up, but he only murmured in her ear. “We’re being followed. Don’t look.”

Emma nodded, steadying her breathing. “How many?”

“One.”

“Indeed.”

He pretended to point at something, a smile on his face. “When you see the ship, run to it and get help.”

“I am help. I can fight.”

“I know. But I don’t know if he has friends.”

“You’ll need me if he has friends.”

“You’ll do as you’re told,” he said, teeth gritted, “because I am your captain.”

“I will not, because I need you alive,” she said serenely, waving away a merchant. “I’ll keep out of it unless you need help.”

He clenched his jaw, but gave up trying to change her mind before he began. He dropped his hand to the quick of her back, guiding her, and eventually the mast of the ship poked over the buildings. She could feel his relief, his hand moving to his sword’s hilt, and turning around, facing a scrawny boy who barely reached his shoulder, standing about six metres away from them. He stopped dead.

“Can we help you?” Hook asked with a bright smile, and Emma glanced between them.

The boy was grubby, rubbing his forearms and only making them dirtier with the mud on his hands, and Emma didn’t understand the look Hook was giving him. The boy watched Hook, glancing in Emma’s direction.

“No.”

“Are you sure, lad? You’ve been following us for three streets.”

“I haven’t.”

Emma narrowed her eyes, taking a step forward. “Yes, you have. You’re lying.”

Hook held out a warning hand to Emma, keeping her back. “Tell your master if he tries again, I’ll slit your throat and then his for good measure. Do you understand?”

The boy nodded, turning on his heel and disappearing around a corner.

Waiting until he’d gone, Hook grabbed Emma’s healthy upper arm and hauled her towards the Jolly Roger.

She did her best to throw him off, grimacing as he only tightened his grip. “ _Let go_ , you fool, I can walk unaided, I’m not an invalid-”

He shot her a glare so vicious she stopped talking. 

Finally reaching the ship, they crossed the gangplank and Hook practically threw her on board. Someone’s hands caught Emma, steadying her mid stumble and pulling her upright. It was Saito.

“We set sail now,” Hook said to his men, who all had stopped at his entrance. 

“But you said we’d stay-”

“I changed my mind,” Hook said, eyes hard. “To work, you wastes of space.” 

They snapped into action, Saito disappearing before Emma could even turn to thank him. Hook swallowed, avoiding her gaze as he swept past her, striding into his cabin ahead of her.

Rubbing her upper arm, she followed him, slamming the door behind her. 

“Pardon my language,” Emma said, pulling up her sleeve to see if she would bruise, “but what the hell was that?”

“Slave trade,” Hook said, unstopping a bottle of rum and taking a swig. “They mark targets using a kid.”

“I didn’t mean the boy,” Emma said, staring him down. “I meant you.”

He looked away, taking a longer, deeper drink. “I’m sorry,” he said, actually saying it to his bed but she assumed it was directed at her.

Examining the redness she knew she wouldn’t bruise because the pain was already fading, she nodded and pushed her sleeve back down. “The child was marking us?”

“You, lass. He was marking you.”

Emma closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose, before shaking it away. “Right. Of course.”

“I’ve seen it before,” Hook said, thinking of the little girl Milah said she’d killed in fear.

“Did they succeed?”

He thought of the three men he’d hunted down and killed personally. She could see death in his eyes. “Not while I’m around.” 

She sat in his chair, running her fingers over the same patch of carved patterns in the arm, the polish soothing to touch. He only seemed vicious, unhinged even, when someone he cared about was at risk. If the owner of her shirt was precious to him, she wondered where she was.

He threw his coat onto the desk beside her and fell onto the bed, flat on his back and rum still in hand.

“Those women. They like you.”

“They’re a whorehouse. They like anyone who has good coin,” Hook said, eyes closed.

“Yes, but Madame said they owed you, and the girl, Lisette-”

“You shouldn’t use her name.”

“I’m- sorry? What?”

Hook heaved himself upwards, sighing. “It’s different for them. They explained it to me once. In there, names are a precious thing, and only if you’ve earned the respect or friendship of the person are you allowed to use their real name. They’ll tell you when you’ve earned saying it.”

Emma bit her lip, slight frown in place. “You’ve earned it. You used her name.”

“I did.”

“How did you earn it?”

Hook yawned. “Did them a favour.”

There was something in his evasion of the truth only making Emma more want to know it.

“Tell me.”

He considered her, head tilted to the side. He took another drink and offered her the bottle of rum. She took it but didn’t drink, watching him.

“There isn’t much to say. We were told it was the best place in town for a good time when we were passing through, but when we got there, it was ablaze. A few of the girls were trapped inside, and we got them out.”

“You saved their lives,” Emma said, and Hook could’ve sworn he heard a kind of softness in her voice.

“Saito and I. Madame told us if I ever needed anything, I was to come to her.”

“That was noble of you,” Emma said, and she did her best to keep any trace of surprise out of her voice.

“It would’ve been bad form to walk away,” Hook said. 

They considered each other, eyes meeting as she drank the rum, handing the bottle back to him. Emma was the first to shake it off, dropping her head against the back of the chair.

“Where are we going next?”

“I have a place in mind.”

“Like Portland’s Cove?”

Hook laughed at her dubious tone. “No, somewhere far more civilised. My ship is in need of a trip to the Outliers, she’s in dire need of extra sails, and they are the greatest in all the realms for them. We’ll have to stop off around the coast to get some supplies, but then we’ll be due south.”

“It takes three days to reach the Outliers,” Emma said, frowning.

“Yes. We can plot our next move in that time.”

The journey filled her first week aboard the Jolly Roger, there and back. She found Saito be an excellent opponent in poker, barely speaking at all, but she surprised them all with her skill at it, although Hook refused to play against her. He was ribbed with being a coward, Emma’s smirk grating on him, but he was merely grateful Saito’s acceptance of her on board seemed to have encouraged the others to be like minded. It meant he could worry less about her wandering the ship alone, although she worried him most at night.

The others did not hear, but Hook could not avoid her nightmares. Only being woken could console her screams and crying and thrashing, but she would shake for minutes, sometimes hours after them. At first she tried to deny her fear, but when not a single night passed without his waking at least once, she couldn’t deny it and instead pretended it hadn’t happened. Hook understood, and did not press her about it. He only asked if she was alright, the fewer words spoken meaning the better they could pretend to feel, but they both knew the nightmares were about him and it hung between them like a noose. 

He took to sitting with her until she fell back to sleep after the third night, and on the fifth she fell asleep with his hand resting on hers. Her lips parted and breathing softly, he pulled himself away as she settled, but it was a few minutes before he could bring himself to leave the room.

Saito mentioned the captain looked tired, and Hook made him scrub the deck for his trouble, but Saito ended up enjoying it because Emma came out to talk to him.

She joked about the captain’s lack of sleep due to the presence of a spy for nobility aboard his ship. One of the women, Michaela, whom she understood to be married to another of the crew, threw a dirty look her way for the joke. Later, Emma asked Hook about her. She’d always kept a cold distance, but Hook assured her it was merely mistrust, not hatred, causing her behaviour.

“Unfortunately, I cannot merely charm people on this ship,” Emma said, watching Hook reading a handful of letters on his bed. She had finally finished cleaning and rewrapping her arm with bandages after Hook had teased out the stitches.

“You’ve charmed Saito,” Hook said, turning to a new letter.

“I meant through a show of wealth and an overly lavish party,” Emma said, grinning to herself. “Is that not how everyone charms their acquaintances?”

“Just royalty, I think.”

“Oh,” Emma said, slumping in her seat and smiling. She’d long given up lacing her corset every day, leaving her shirt loose. “How disappointing. How does one charm without such extravagance?”

“A smile and a joke usually works,” Hook said, but his voice tailed off. The letters in his hands were sapping his focus from her self-deprecating humour, a sample of what the writer sent to her in in palace.

“What is it?”

“You were saying it was strange for the border dispute to result in your heart being stolen.”

Emma blinked. “Yes. Why?”

“Perhaps- what evidence do you have it is the reason for the assassins?”

“Well, it begin a month after the dispute began,” Emma said, unhesitant. “And we… well, the first time, you see…” She trailed off, frowning. “At some point, did we merely _assume_ -?”

“What if the person sending you the letters also sent the assassins?”

Emma couldn’t quite breathe. “Oh Gods.”

“He says here, about your heart ‘being mine, and mine alone’-”

“Oh, _Gods_.”

“The letters don’t seem to know the difference between murder and love. Do you think the writer does?”

She couldn’t pull enough air into her lungs.

“Lass, I think you’re only after one person.”

“How did I-?“

Shallow and in quick succession, her breathing made her lightheaded. She bent double.

Hook sat up. “Lass?”

She stared ahead, unseeing. “He tried to kill me. Four times.”

“We don’t know that.”

“It might be true, though. It might be. And I… it never even occurred to me.”

Hook slapped the letters on the bed. “Let’s find out if it is true.”

“How?”

Hook grinned at her. “Let’s find ourselves an assassin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the reviews KiwistreetSwan, KK1986 and acosto03 :) and thank you HugBubble, she's my bae and she's been reading it to make sure I don't screw up too badly :D she's writing Darcy/Bucky oneshots rn if anyone's interested.


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journey to meet an assassin is sidetracked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting on friday this week and next because I'm busy at the weekends :)

“Pirates are a threat. A lone woman asking for information is not. I will do it, and I’m going alone.”

Hook raised his eyebrows. “I thought you were intelligent, princess. This is an assassin, they don’t _have_ moral compasses.”

“I will not ask him to be moral. I will ask him to talk, and he will not if you’re there, so you cannot join me.”

This was not the first time Emma had said she was going alone, but it was the first time Hook objected to it. Travelling west for five days, they’d encountered more difficulties in the weather than anything else, avoiding other ships in the area under the captain’s experienced eye and hugging the coastline to make their journey as short as possible. They had at least six more before they reached the border of the Northern Kingdom.

“I won’t let you go if you won’t take me,” Hook said, shrugging and sitting back in his chair, and she groaned, massaging her temples. “You need protection.”

She stared up at him, halting her ministrations, incredulous. “I know you’re aware of this, but I’m going to remind you anyway; I’ve survived two weeks on a ship full of people who would’ve seen me dead six months ago. There have been four assassins sent after me, and none of them succeeded, I have been bludgeoned with a sword, saved your life, saved my own, and lived with a stalker sending me death threats. And yet you still believe I cannot protect myself?”

“This is my ship, and I say you can’t,” he said, voice low and warning.

“This is my _life_ , and I say you don’t get to choose,” she said, voice fierce. “I’m going and you’re not. Make peace with it.”

She stood to leave, but he stood too.

“You don’t understand how I operate this ship. I’m captain,” he said, hand resting on her shoulder and smiling sarcastically, “and you do as I say.”

“You should learn to trust me,” she said, ignoring his insolence. “And you are being illogical. You might ruin any chance we have if you attend this meeting.”

He dropped his hand and turned away from her, running his hand through his hair. “I’m the one who will _arrange_ this meeting-”

“And I am grateful for it,” Emma said, taking his arm by the crook of the elbow and turning him back around. “Truly, I am. I would not be here were it not for you, and do not think for a moment I don’t know that. But you cannot attend. You are infamous. At best in my kingdom you will attract attention. At worst we will all be arrested. If you stay on your ship, if we are clever, no one ever need know we were there.”

“What if he attacks you? What if you are caught? I promised you your safety-”

Emma reached forward, taking hold of his hand with both of hers. “It’s a risk I have to take.”

“I could have Saito follow you-”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Hook bit his lip and opened his mouth to say something, but there was a knock on the cabin door and before either of them could react, it whipped open. They sprang apart as Saito strode in.

He glanced at Emma, but he looked straight back to Hook, nodding at him. “Captain, Cole has spotted another ship on the horizon. We may be being followed.”

Hook stood to attention, trailing Saito out without another word. Emma hurried after them, skipping up the steps and to the back of the ship. Cole was stood there, pointing to a white sail so far in the distance Emma couldn’t even see it at first. Hook pulled out a telescope, holding it with his teeth to extend it, looking closely.

“Any distinctive markings?”

“Not… especially. It’s not big… three masts- a ballinger, probably. Faster than us, more manoeuvrability, but not in the same league as the Roger. Not worth boarding.” Hook slapped the telescope shut, turning to Cole. “Keep an eye on it. Crow’s nest.”

He nodded, and Hook turned to the rest of the ship, barking orders at several individuals. Emma sighed, tucking herself out of the way of the crew and sitting cross-legged next to Saito, who was once again scrubbing the deck.

“Do you do anything else?” Emma asked, grinning at him.

He threw his rag at her, but she caught it before it hit her in the face, and he laughed as she slapped it back on the deck. “Occasionally I walk in on my Captain holding hands with a maid.”

Emma shot a glare at him. “We were not-”

“Shut up, yes you were.”

Emma looked at the floor. She could feel her cheeks burning.

He chuckled, resuming his work. “You know, I met my Annalise when I was nine years old. She lived three streets from me, but we barely spoke. And then I bumped into her, four years ago in the market, and we talked for so long her mother came looking for her. She kissed my cheek and walked away, asking to see me again, and that’s when I knew I wanted to marry her.”

“Your point?”

“There’s nothing wrong with knowing what you want, and going after it.”

Hook was throwing his arms in the air, berating Michaela for something. Emma swallowed.

“I don’t want him.”

“No?” Saito didn’t need to say anymore. His smirk was too pronounced, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn stain.

“Back home,” she said, swallowing. “There might be someone.”

“Oh, really?”

“He’s to propose.”

“You sound thrilled about it, too.”

About to grab the cloth from him and take her own turn to throw it, a hand appeared in front of Emma. It was Hook’s. She took it, and he hauled her to her feet.

“You’re going to have to go below, lass.”

“Any reason?”

“It might get a bit busy up here. Best keep you out the way. Saito, Cole will need another set of eyes. Up the rigging, lad.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Emma took the rag out of his hand as he stood, picking up the bucket of water next to it. “I’ll deal with this, don’t worry about it.”

Saito clapped her on the back, asking her to take it to the crew’s quarters and hurrying away. Hook paused, watching her, eyes narrowed a little.

“I’ll go as soon as I’m finished, I’m not looking to annoy. I’m only helping.”

He waved her away. “Aye, I know. Carry on.”

To the left of the captain’s cabin, Emma hurried down a narrow stairway and doubled back on herself, finding the crew’s quarters. They were deserted, and she tucked the bucket under Saito’s hammock so as to avoid it being kicked over. She draped the cloth over its rim, and headed back out.

The deck should have been awash with activity, but everyone was small and concentrated in their movements- no running around, or yelling. In their moment of panic they were at their most calm. She looked at Hook’s quarters, but she already couldn’t stand still. After some deliberation, Emma found Hook at the helm, steering the ship and keeping his gaze to the ship behind them. He glanced at her.

“How are we doing?”

“I thought I told you to go below.”

She bit her lip, staring at the ship. “You did. I just… I don’t feel comfortable. Hiding. Waiting. It doesn’t suit me. Please, give me something to do, even if it’s inconsequential.”

Hook took her wrist, his hook on her waist, guiding her to the wheel. She accepted it without question, and he nodded at the empty horizon.

“Keep us on this path. Try not to turn, we’ll lose time,” he said, gesturing to the white sail behind them.

She nodded, smiling at him through tight lips.

“Thank you.”

His eyes were so blue they matched the sky. “You’re welcome. I won’t be far.”

She kept her arms and hands as tight and still as possible, even when they ached from misuse. Hook barked orders over the railing. There was always something to watch, she found, throwing comments at Hook to make him smile.

Saito scurried down the rigging, explaining to Hook they seemed to be quickly veering off course to follow the Roger, and it was speeding up, at least five knots faster than they were. She was, as Hook suspected, a ballinger, usually only used for exploration. 

“Any idea why they’re following us?” Hook said, teeth gritted.

“None, captain.”

Hook tossed Saito his telescope. “Try and find out.” He turned to Emma. “Lass, you need to go into my quarters.”

Emma bit her lip. Her knuckles whitened on the wheel.

“I’d rather stay here.”

“This might get ugly.”

“I’ll get my sword.”

“Someone on that ship might recognise you.”

Emma raised her eyebrow. “The chances of that are very slim.”

“Anything’s possible.”

“I’d still rather stay here.”

Hook flattened his lips together, but didn’t argue further, taking over the steering. “Get your sword.”

Sticking a dagger in her belt, she slid her sword in carefully after it and folded her cloak and left it, even though it kept her warm, on her bed. Goosebumps erupted on her arms on deck, but she ignored it and stood next to Hook, watching the other ship while the deck buzzed with activity.

“Do you think they can catch us?”

“Catch up with us? Yes. Capture us? No. On a ship that small, their crew can only be thirty or so. The Roger has fifty.”

The ship drew level with them, and ordered them to slow. Hook obliged, laughing with Cole about their slim chances of overpowering them, and weighing anchor. The ballinger did the same, and threw a plank between the two ships.

If they expected to board the Jolly Roger, Emma watched as they discovered they were mistaken, Hook striding across the plank before any of them had time to.

“Where’s the captain of this here fine vessel?” he asked, dropping on deck, the pirates roaring as though it was the funniest thing they’d heard.  
Emma stood next to Cole.

“I am here,” the captain said, standing up straight in front of Hook. His eyes had been drawn to the hook as much as Emma’s had, and few of the crew seemed to have to resist the urge to step back. They all wore uniforms of navy and gold like the rest of his crew. Emma squinted, trying to identify the coat of arms on their lapels. “I am under orders from their majesties the Queen and King of the Northern Kingdom to search every ship we pass.”

Emma looked up, and ducked behind Cole. 

“Aye? Why’s that?”

“There’s a piece of particularly precious cargo missing from their majesties’ treasury.”

Hook snorted, hand on the hilt of his sword so casually it could have been his hip. “And I’m supposed to just allow you to invade my ship? These waters aren’t theirs, you have no authority here.”

“They obtained permission from Queen Aurora to perform searches here- you will find these are her waters.” The captain pointed to the red flag. Hook raised an eyebrow, not looking to it. The captain sighed.

“Let us be honest- we both know I know you’re pirates. I understand you have plenty of gold here that may come from questionable origins. Their majesties’ have insisted nothing else matters, and if the precious cargo is found it is all that will be taken. Nothing else.”

“If I were a pirate- and I’m not saying I am- and I did have cargo as valuable as that, I wouldn’t be likely to let you take it.”

“As I understand it, it has more sentimental than monetary value.”

Hook rolled his eyes, stepping back up onto the plank, saluting them. “We don’t want searching today, gentlemen, but thank you for your time.”

“We will use force if we have to.”

Hook stopped halfway across the plank. “Mate, honestly, it’s not worth it. We haven’t got anything valuable on this ship right now, and I’ve got six loaded cannons pointed at you ready for my word to fire.”

Some of the pirates hooted, taking a few steps to crane their necks to see over the side of the ship. Emma didn’t look, but the pirates’ reactions were enough, giggling in glee and grinning at each other.

“I suggest you go on your merry way, and we go on ours. No harm done.”

Emma could see the officers eyeing the women of ship with particular interest, examining their faces and watching them. She edged further into Cole’s shadow.

“I cannot allow you to leave without having searched your ship.”

“Then I’ll have to destroy you and your crew, and I’d hate to do that.”

“Could we make a deal?”

Hook scratched his eyebrow, sighing. “What kind of deal?”

“You allow our ship to search yours, and in exchange we’ll forget you were here. Keep it our little secret, no mention to anyone you were in the area.”

Hook snorted. “I deal in gold, mate, not promises.”

“Is that your final decision?”

Dropping back onto the Jolly Roger, he pointed to the plank. “You’re welcome to try and force your search, but-” he unsheathed his sword, “that won’t be pretty.”

Cole shifted, nearly backing into her- all of the crew had pulled out their swords as though Hook had uttered a command to do so. She gripped the hilt of her own, but didn’t pull it out, watching closely.

The captain gazed around the ship, then sighed and nodded. “You were never here.”

Emma’s lips parted, heart thudding in her chest.

“Marvellous,” Hook said, beaming and threading his sword in place.

As soon as the naval officers pulled the plank back to their side, Hook nodded to the pirates and they set to work, hoisting the sails. Emma dodged them, whipping up the steps to the wheel, eyes set on Hook. Ignoring a stray elbow to the back, she stumbled into him, grabbing the back of his coat and yanking him round.

“You can’t set sail,” she said, holding her back and glancing across at her own officers on the other boat.

If she were the pirates, she would think the same as they. The officers were busy themselves, but they glanced across too often, eyes narrowed in concentration, a few too many checking their pistols for bullets, the sails on their ships taking a fraction longer to be freed than it should.

“Why not?”

She took a deep breath, eyebrows drawn together as she looked to her officers. It would be a betrayal. She couldn’t take that back.

“You have to promise not to hurt them if you don’t have to,” she said to Hook, and he shook his head slightly.

“Lass, I don’t understand.”

“ _Promise me_. You won’t hurt them.”

Hook swallowed, eyeing her up. “Who?”

“The officers.”

Hook followed her gaze, looking at them.

“They’re my men. You won’t hurt them.”

Cole joined them. “Captain-”

Hook nodded, holding out a finger to Cole. “You have my word.”

She closed her eyes, and spoke fast. “This is a tactic used a lot. If a ship has more brute force than they do, they’ll pretend to retreat and as the enemy looks as though they’re to move, at their most distracted, they’ll launch a surprise attack. The ship’s overwhelmed before there’s even a fight.”

Hook squeezed her forearm, turning to Cole. “Spread the word below, I want every available person up here and armed.”

Cole nodded, forgetting his question and disappearing into the crowd, and Hook grabbed Saito.

“Expect attack, tell everyone.”

Emma watched Saito go, staring after him. Hook tugged on her sleeve. “My quarters. Hide.”

Wishing she had a hood to pull over her bright blonde hair, she ducked her head and skipped down the steps.

A roar ripped through the air, the ship shuddering under their feet.

They’d made their move. Officers jumped over the railings in waves, landing on the deck and dropping pirates faster than they could pull out their swords.

Sword in hand, Emma’s blade met an officer’s.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she told him, unflinching at his gritted teeth and vicious slashes. “Surrender.”

He thrust upwards- dodging sideways, Emma grabbed his sword hand and dived forwards, blade across his neck.

“Drop your sword.”

“You’ll kill me anyway, pirate scum,” he spat.

Emma rolled her eyes, yanking his wrist back on itself. He yelped and dropped it.

“There’s no need for name calling,” she told him, pulling her sword away and smacking him over the head with the hilt of it, out cold. The next charged at her so fast she used his momentum against him and threw him to the floor, and engaged the next without a second thought, dodging his attacks and employing her own.

She only realised she was duelling their captain when blade slammed down on hers with such force the sword slipped through her fingers. The tip of his sword pressed into her stomach, and she threw her hands up in surrender- and she stared at him, and his jaw dropped.

“Your highness,” he breathed.

Grabbing her arms, he steered her back towards the officer-dominated side of the ship.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she said, trying to wriggle away.

“Your royal highness,” he said, holding her behind him as he faced the pirates again, “you are the precious cargo we’ve been searching for. Please don’t make this harder than it is.”

“I’m not who you think I am-”

“If you weren’t, you would’ve already killed me,” he said cheerfully, letting her arm go to smash his fist into Cole’s face.

“Please don’t-”

“Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m not hurt-”

“Robbins, take this woman to our ship, now.”

“ _No_ -!”

Robbins wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her backwards, towards the edge of the Roger. She yanked his fingers back with such force she was sure she heard them snap, and he yelped, dropping her.

She realised the captain was duelling Hook, their swords sparking off each other.

“Give her back,” Hook said.

“No,” the captain said, Hook’s sword clattering to the floor.

Emma could only see the back of the captain’s head and Hook’s face, his sneer twisted as the blade bit into his throat. 

“If you want my crew to stop,” he said, rolling his eyes and raising his hands to shoulder height, “you will have to kill me.”

The captain didn’t say anything. The pirates were overpowering the officers, some cut down and more penned in by the railing, with Emma.

If she let the officers win, if she let him kill Hook, they’d take her home, where she’d die. If she pulled the sword away from Hook’s throat by the hilt, it’d probably slit it anyway. If she asked his life to be spared, she knew it wouldn’t- it’s not her parents’ policy, to spare the life of the captain of a pirate ship.

If she let them kill Hook, and the officers lost anyway, she’d lose her protection. They might find out who she was. And, truthfully, she didn’t want Hook to die.

Fingers cold as they clutched the hilt of her dagger, she darted behind the captain and plunged the knife into his back. He choked, but couldn’t breathe, and Emma knew she’d pierced his lung, his sword arm dropping to the floor. Hook disarmed him.

Emma put her hand on the captain’s shoulder, leaning in close. He was warm through his clothing, and she felt like she was going to throw up. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, twisting the knife and yanking it out.

He buckled, she was left to look at Hook, who couldn’t move, staring at her. She dropped the knife, clapping her hand over her mouth and he couldn’t hear her make a sound, but her whole face crumpled. Two officers shoved past her and rolled their captain over. He was already dead.

Emma took a step back, staring at his body through distorting tears. She couldn’t look away from his unseeing eyes.

“Lieutenant,” Hook said, and one of the kneeling men looked up, “I will accept your surrender. No one else need die.”

He wiped away tears, and nodded.

“They’ve surrendered. STOP!”

The Lieutenant pulled himself upright too. “As acting captain, I command my men to drop their weapons.”

Across the deck, the sound of steel clashing with steel died across the deck, the officers dropping their swords, and then it was near silent. 

Hook turned to address the pirates, and Emma heard a roar- turning, she met a wretched-faced officer, scarce a metre from her. She barely had time to acknowledge the dagger in his hand as he thrust upwards. Throwing her forearm down onto his to catch it, she stared into his eyes his hand took her shoulder and tugged her forwards. It felt like being punched.

“For my captain,” he whispered in her ear, and pirates grabbed him by the neck and dragged him backwards. Seeing the bloody knife in his hand, she felt numb, but she stayed standing, staring at him.She couldn’t quite breathe anymore.

Slumping to her knees, she heard Hook’s voice asking her if she was harmed but she could only whimper, hands clutching her stomach. Hook guided her to lying down, prying her blood-slick hands away, and there was another clash of swords, but Hook ignored it and scooped her up in his arms. He shouted something over his shoulder as he walked with her, kicking open the door to his quarters and laying her on his bed. She curled into the smallest ball she could.

“Killian-”

“I know, shh, it’s nothing but a flesh wound-” he assured her, hand stroking her hair, “-Saito, have you-”

“They have a physician on their ship, they said they had a physician-”

“-fetch him, _now_ -” He hushed her, shrugging his coat off and putting his hand on her leg. “Straighten out, I need to see the wound."

She dug her nails into the sheets, fingers so wet with blood they skid over it as he rolled her onto her back.

“Apologies, your majesty-” he said, hook ripping the bottom half of her shirt clean off. She whimpered again, but his fingers ghosted over the wound.

“Actually- it’s ‘your royal highness’,” she said, voice tight. “You should only address a king or queen as ‘your majesty’.”

Hook rolled his eyes, dabbing freshly welled blood away. “Good to know royalty are still incomprehensibly absurd about trivial details.”

The door flew open, banging against the wall.

“The physician,” Saito said, indicating the man next to him.

Bag in hand, the physician went to pass Hook- but Hook grabbed him by the collar.

“I know she killed your captain,” Hook said, voice low, “but I assure you she advocated for you all to live. If she doesn’t survive, she can’t protect you, and you and your entire crew will die. Do you understand?”

The doctor hesitated. “Yes.”

Emma snatched up at the back of Hook’s shirt. “No, please, if I die, take them back-”

Hook took her hand. The blood there was tacky. “Only if you live.”

He stepped aside, and the physician strode forward, leaning over her to touch the wound with experienced fingers. She yelped, toes curling as she tried to keep still.

“I’ve studied physiology and biology,” Saito said, stepping forward as the physician leaned over. “Can I help?”

“Do you have any strong spirits?” the physician asked, taking a cloth out of his bag to clean up the blood.

“To put on the wound?”

“For her to drink.”

Hook ripped a cork out of a fresh bottle of rum with his teeth, propping her head up to help her gulp it down, the physician pulling out what looked like instruments of torture.

“That is godawful,” Emma said, pulling a face and flopping back into the pillow.

Hook took a swig too, wincing. “It’s cheap, is what it is.”

The physician looked at her. “I need you to hold still. This is delicate work and I don’t want to damage you further, but I need to check what’s been done. Can you do that, or will I need to have you held down?”

Emma shook her head. Hook knelt beside her, taking her hand while she held every muscle rigid.

“Do it.”

Only the physician was surprised she didn’t scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the reviews KiwistreetSwan and KK1986, really appreciate it :)
> 
> for some reason the notes are playing up please ignore it if something shows up below this note


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hook and Emma find that their trail has gone cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~sorry if it being a day early messes you up~
> 
> WARNINGS, MILDLY SPOILER-Y: this is the chapter with allusions to rape and sexual assault, please skip to end notes if you want an overview of what happens to see if you're okay with it.

No cloth unstained by blood, Hook wiped the sweat off her brow with his sleeve.

“She needs rest, plenty of water and constant watch for the next two days. If anything changes, fetch me immediately,” the physician said, cleaning his assortment of scalpels and needles.

Emma’s lips were white, and her words weak, but she still smiled at him. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “Am I to see that my men are safe?”

Hook stood. “I’ll take you to them myself. Saito, stay with her.”

They left and Saito exhaled, smiling at her with his head tilted.

“Do you want anything?”

Emma felt her midriff, blood rubbing off under her fingers. “Something to clean myself with?”

Saito nodded and insisted on doing it himself. Emma had never been so bare in front of a man, but Saito made her feel as comfortable as Cara did, making a few light jokes but not forcing conversation.

He eventually sat in the desk’s seat, unable to do anything more, and told her to sleep.

She wanted to wait for Hook, but he took too long. She drifted off.

***

Saito was gone when Emma awoke, Hook in his place. Her eyes flashing open, the dream of nothing but red. His eyes were half closed until she moved, Emma rolled her head to see him clutching the mostly-empty bottle of rum. He lent forward.

“You are an awful lot of trouble, princess.”

Emma chuckled, then winced, resting a hand on the bandages on her stomach. Moving triggering the feeling of the stitches ripping. “My father always says that.”

“I imagine you were a menace as a child.”

“That’s a fair assessment.”

Hook stood, opening his dresser. He lay a black shirt of his over her bare midriff, and tucked it in gently.

She freed her hand, and touched it. It was softer than she expected.

“I keep ruining perfectly good shirts.”

“You keep bleeding all over them,” he said, sinking back in the seat and taking a swig of the rum. “You were right. This is terrible.”

“Why do you even have it?” she said, holding her hand out to take it anyway.

He smirked at her, passing her a glass of water from the desk. “The physician told me that you’re to drink plenty of water. You lost a lot of blood.”

She tried to lift her head, but the movement tugged on her stitches. “ _Oh_ \- bloody hell-”

Hook helped her sit upright, pillows arranged carefully under her back to support her. She sipped the water, eyeing his rum.

“Not even a bit?”

“Nope,” he said, downing the rest just to spite her.

She rolled her eyes, handing him the glass back. “He was far better at stitches than you were. You were so heavy handed.”

“Well, I only have one, and you were drunk when he did it.”

“I wasn’t drunk. I’d had a _drink_ , that’s not the same thing.”

He smiled, his playful arguments lost, and she examined her hands. Saito had cleaned them, but blood had dried under her nails like grime and when she rubbed her fingers together, it came away in clumps. She swallowed, staring at the far wall. “Are the men- how are my crew?”

“They’re fine. I have twenty-one of them in my hold.”

“How many died?”

Hook refilled her glass, putting it on the bedside table. “Fifteen of mine. Eleven of theirs.”

The image of the captain, dead in the arms of his lieutenant, blood leaking out the corner of his mouth, wouldn’t leave her.

“Why did you kill him?”

Emma shook her head as though it were a twitch.

Hook shifted the chair closer, taking one of her bloodstained hands. “Hey.”

“No.” She pulled her hand free, closing into a tight fist.

“Princess…” Hook sighed, eyes dull. “We all make ugly decisions on this ship.”

She was sure she didn’t want to know.

Closing her eyes, the captain’s face swam across her vision. She was sure she’d met him in some ceremony at the palace.

“He knew who I was. I didn’t think I had any other choice.”

Hook nodded.

“Is-”

She broke off, shaking her head. Her free hand rearranged the shirt draped over her. 

“What?”

“Is the man who hurt me safe?”

Hook sighed. “Yes. Only because I know you wouldn’t forgive me if I keelhauled him.”

“What’s-?”

“Slow. Painful.”

“I just-” Emma swallowed. “Thank you.”

Hook sighed. “If I hadn’t promised you no unnecessary death, he wouldn’t be breathing. And my crew still thinks we should do it. As Saito pointed out, we don’t tolerate attacks on our own when you’re supposed to have surrendered.”

Emma didn’t know what to think about being assumed to be one of them, and so she turned to a less difficult question, biting her lip. “Why is Saito so keen to help me?”

“Annalise,” he said, shrugging.

“The girl he intends to marry?”

“Yes. The months we couldn’t dock were especially hard on him, and I don’t think he wants to risk the truce I came to with you out of fear he’ll never see her again.”

“So I can trust him as far as the truce stretches.”

“Indeed. I also think he likes you, truthfully.”

She sank in the pillows. If she were honest with herself, she would admit that if the captain hadn’t overpowered Hook and threatened him, she wasn’t so sure she would have killed him. It would have just been her life in the captain’s power if they’d escaped with her.

“I need to see to my ship.”

Emma nodded. 

“You should sleep. I’ll send Saito to watch you.”

Hours later, when the daylight was dimming and Hook returned to excuse Saito, Emma was still awake.

He threw his coat on the desk and collapsed into the chair. Saito closed the door behind him.

Emma smiled. “Hard day?”

“Pirates are some of the most stupid creatures I’ve ever had the misfortune to encounter.”

“You are a pirate.”

“I’m the exception.”

Emma chuckled, pulling the blanket Saito had found for her to her chin. 

Hook gestured to the black shirt she’d thrown to the desk. “You can keep that, you know.”

“Are you sure you want to give me it? You won’t get it back.”

“I’m fully aware of that,” Hook said, rolling his eyes. “You can’t seem survive a single fight without ruining one.”

She scowled at him, folding her arms. “I’d hardly call getting stabbed when I was without a weapon a fight.”

“I can recall a man slicing open your arm, too.”

Her jaw dropped. “I had a dagger and he had a sword! And I _won_ that fight.”

Lips twitching, Hook tried to hide a smile. Emma flushed, looking away.

“You’re teasing me.”

Hook winked at her. “Didn’t you also save my life? In both instances?”

Emma held her smile back, fiddling with her nails, and Hook began unlacing his boots.

“When did you start training?”

Emma frowned. “I’m not sure. Perhaps four? I fought with my father using sticks when I was very young, and he gave me my first sword when I was eleven… I was fifteen when I joined the knights, training four or five times a week.”

Kicking off his boots, he shrugged off his vest too. He was usually so tidy she raised her eyebrow when he threw it all on top of the trunk at the bottom of his bed, and he lay next to her on top of the covers. His shirt touched her bare forearm, and his body heat pulsated off him. They both looked at the ceiling.

“Your father trained you?” Hook asked, as though they had never stopped talking.

“My mother taught me the bow and arrow, and survival. She’s twice the archer he is.”

“I thought royal children were never raised by their parents.”

Emma thought. “Many aren’t, I suppose. But I was.”

“Don’t they have duties to fulfil?”

“Too many. I have no idea how I’ll manage when I’m queen, I simply can’t keep up.”

Hook quietened, their breathing the only noise in the room.

Turning her head to him, Emma watched as he stared at the space between himself and the ceiling. “What?”

Hook glanced at her. “It’s strange. The thought of you being a queen, I can’t imagine it.”

“Honestly? Neither can I.”

“You will be greater than I think you know, princess.”

Emma looked to him, and he shrugged.

“I believe it.”

Emma smiled. “Forgive me, but I’ll have to disagree. I’m currently bedbound aboard a pirate ship, after having run away from my home to track down the person who wants to kills me. It’s not the most responsible thing I’ve ever heard a princess do.”

“Aye. Don’t forget, they’re the same pirates that previously kidnapped you,” Hook added.

Emma slapped her forehead and giggled. “Ah, yes, my parents will be so proud.”

“They will.”

Emma’s smile still played with the corners of her lips as she quirked her eyebrows up at him, staring back at the ceiling. “If you say so.”

“You’ve realised the border dispute is not as treacherous as you believed. You know you have an assassin in the palace you can interrogate about the man who sent the letters. You have learnt the origins of the threat, and you know what the threat is.” He rolled onto his side, his eyes steadily watching her. “They will be proud.”

Emma didn’t know what to say, his lips parted as he studied her face so closely, every freckle on her face was memorised, she was sure.

“Are you sleeping here?”

“No, I’ll take your bed. You shouldn’t move yet.”

She didn’t quite look at him as he stood, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ll try to keep the nightmares to a minimum.”

“Let me know if you need me.”

“I’m sure the screaming will do that just fine,” she said. 

He paused, as if to say something, then shut the door.

***

She didn’t make a sound, but Hook was so accustomed to interrupted sleep he awoke before dawn broke regardless.

He sat up in bed, staring at the door separating the two of them. He needed to know she was still fine. Easing the open the door, he saw the steady rise and fall of her chest, and her open eyes.

“Princess?”

She flinched, sinking back into her pillows on seeing him.

“Yes?”

“Are you alright?”

“Of course. I think I slept a little too much yesterday.”

“I don’t think you’ve slept enough.”

She shook her head. “Sometimes, I can’t shake a nightmare, quite.”

Emma tried not to track his quiet steps into the room. He sat next to her, back pressed against the headboard. The mattress shifted under his weight.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“It wasn’t anything, much,” she shrugged, swallowing. It was enough that he knew she had them, and they were of him.

“If it’s keeping you up, I’d suggest it was something.”

She looked up at him. “Are you always this inquisitive about personal details of people you’ve made a deal with?”

“Always,” he said, without hesitation but with a restrained smile.

Sighing, she looked at him. “It’s not particularly nice.”

“I didn’t expect it to be.”

Smaller sentences always make difficult things easier to say. “I was stabbed, over and over. You just watched, and I think you laughed. I never remember much.”

He didn’t recoil, only nodded. “Was it being stabbed that scared you?”

“No. It was the way you laughed.”

Hook nodded again. “Do you think I would actually do that?”

She looked up at him, weary. “I was lucid when he stabbed me. I remember everything you did to save my life. I know you wouldn’t.”

“I didn’t mean to offend, only understand.”

“I know.”

She bit her lip, watching him. On her first time on the ship, she thought he was only capable of smirking, at everything, including pain. If you were an ally of his, it would only be a matter of time until he turned on you, and being his enemy could only see you run. 

The latter she still believed. Emma want never want to fight him again, because even though she was more skilled, well versed in many forms of combat, he was the kind of warrior who’d be broken and bloody and still go for the attack. The kind of opponent who’d need three strikes more than you thought a person was capable of taking.

Catching her gaze, he bit his lip, moving to stand.

“Well, princess. I’ll leave you to-”

“Won’t you stay?”

He took her in, for a moment, and the corner of his mouth twitched. She refused to react, face unmoving.

“As you wish, princess.”

Hook shuffled down the bed, lying down. His arm wasn’t touching her like the night before, and she let her eyes linger on his face, his brilliant eyes bright even in dim light, his hair more ruffled than usual. He caught her looking. She held his gaze, bowing out after a couple of seconds.

“Like what you see?” he asked, and she could hear his smirk.

She closed her eyes. “You’re quite a mystery.”

“I don’t think I am.”

“You wouldn’t. You know every corner of your mind. You hear every thought you have.”

“Princess, you’re far more complicated than I.”

She breathed out, slowly. “You keep surprising me.”

“You don’t surprise me.”

She cracked open an eye. It was her turn to catch him watching her, but he only blinked. “I don’t think you know me that well. I’ve surprised you.”

“You used to. You don’t anymore.”

“Are you saying you know me so well?”

“No. I’m saying you’re very easy to know.”

She frowned at him, and he shrugged.

“Your kindness isn’t an act. I haven’t been surprised since I believed that.”

Wishing she could roll her whole body around to face him, her lips parted, not quite able to articulate what she was feeling. “Oh.”

He grinned at her, actually rolling where she wanted to. “Have I finally achieved the impossible? Can it be? Have I left the princess speechless? Praise be!”

“Be quiet or you’ll never speak again,” she said, shoving at his shoulder, trying not to let out her laugh.

“You know, you haven’t a weapon. There’s a hole in your stomach. And yet, I believe you.”

“Good. Fear me.”

He laughed, and they lay in the quiet and darkness. Like the sea against sand, Emma’s tiredness washed her away, and her eyes were drooping.

“Emma?”

She was barely awake, and it was too much to answer.

The bed moved underneath her, and she reached out, snatching hold of his hand before he could leave. He stopped, but she couldn’t say anything. His lips pressed against her hand, and let her go.

“Sleep, princess.”

***

“Look who’s finally dragged herself out of her bed,” Saito said when she came out onto the deck, steps hesitant and hand pressed against her side as though the stitches would rip any second.

“Next time you’re stabbed,” she said, pausing, “we’ll see how well you take mockery.”

“I’ve never been stabbed. Too quick for it.”

She pointed at him. “When I’m healed, you won’t be too quick for me.”

“Ooh, someone’s feeling spirited,” Cole said, walking over. His black eye was yellowing and faded. “How are you doing?”

“I’ll live,” she said, taking his hand to help steady herself.

Hook leaned over the railing from above, glaring. “I thought I said ten days in bed. Get back inside.”

“It’s been a week. I’m so bored in there. You’ll have to drag me if you want me in there, and that might rip my stitches.”

Cole snickered, but Hook was unimpressed.

“Don’t think I wouldn’t. Inside. Now.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ten minutes. I just need to see something different-”

“No. _Now_.”

She turned around, and Cole turned with her. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Frowning, but not saying another word, she accepted Cole’s help back into the room. “Where are we headed?”

“We’re dropping off the sailors we picked up in the next couple of hours.”

“Where?”

“Edge of the Northern Kingdom, as I understand.”

“Thank you, Cole,” she said, and he helped her sit on the bed. “Will you please inform the captain I will be seeing them off?”

Cole raised an eyebrow, muttering as he left. “It’ll be your funeral…”

It took less than half a minute for him to storm in, eyes thunderous.

“We’re already risking someone having recognised you and running to your parents and telling them exactly where you are. How can you be stupid enough to want to tempt fate by seeing them again?”

She waved him away. “I don’t actually want to see them off, I just wanted you in here. No, I wanted to say I’m not stupid. Don’t think for a second I don’t know you’re going to meet with the assassin without me.”

He rocked his head back, hand covered his eyes. “If you’re about to argue that you should join me, I won’t even know where to begin telling you no-”

“We already agreed I’d go alone.”

“That was before you were stabbed,” he said, as though he were talking to a child.

“All the same reasons apply I gave are as before. I’m not wrong.”

“If the assassin turns on you, you wouldn’t even be able to defend yourself,” he argued.

“Why would the assassin turn on me? You’ve never even voiced that fear before.”

“I cannot believe you’re even trying this,” he said, massaging his temples.

“You did this behind my back- I thought I could trust you.”

“I did it because I knew I could trust you to throw your life in the path of danger when you’ve still got stitches in your stomach,” he said, gesturing his hook at her and pacing up and down. She glared at him. “That’s my choice!”

“Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m captain.”

She struggled to respond, staring around the room. “This is ridiculous.”

“You’re not going anywhere, and that’s final.”

“No, it’s not.” She stood, ignoring the jagged ripping sensation where her stitches were, and stood directly in front of him. He had to stop pacing.

“Give me one honest reason why I shouldn’t.”

“You’re injured.”

“I’m more than capable of having a conversation.”

He blinked, and looked away. She could see something in his eyes, but brushed it away.

“If you have nothing, I’m going.”

He pressed his lips together, closing his eyes. He shook his head slightly. “You could’ve died.”

She huffed out a breath, head tilted, and tried to ignore the lump in her throat. “I won’t get hurt. I appreciate your worry, but it truly will be fine.”

“What if your stitches rip, or-”

“They won’t. The physician checked me not hours ago- he said I’m healing well and the wound has settled.”

“We’re wrapping you in fresh bandages.”

“He just did.”

“And you’ll take your weapons.”

“Fine.”

“And if you get in trouble-”

“It’s my fault, I know.”

He hesitated, and sighed. “If you’re gone more than half an hour, we’ll come looking.”

***

Tucking her cloak further around her, head bent and hood pulled up, Emma saw the lone figure she sought, dark blue pouch sat on the table.

Settling opposite, careful of her stomach, Emma stared at the table between them. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me.”

“I agreed to a price.”

Nodding, Emma produced the ten coins promised, and two more for good faith. Depositing the coins in the pouch, she slid it across the table, and the assassin tucked it inside her cloak, out of sight. She tossed her long, dark hair over her shoulder.

“I have several questions.”

Sinking back in her chair, appraising Emma, the assassin crossed her legs. “Begin.”

Emma lent in, elbows on the table. “There’s currently a price on the head of the princess of the Enchanted Forest, Emma. I was told you know about it. I want to know what the price is.”

“The price is for her heart, actually. It’s risen considerably- at first I heard it was five hundred, but now it is a thousand gold pieces.”

Emma blinked, but made no other reaction to the number outwardly. A person with money like that was either nobility or a criminal.

“How much are you normally paid for a job?”

“Normally, I’m told to kill. This is far more complex, but usually around thirty to fifty pieces of gold, depending on the person.”

“Can you tell me who is making the offer?”

“The person? No. I only know as much as I do because we met, much like this, in a pub. It was a man in his twenties, but I can’t tell you more.”

“Where did you meet him?”

“In the Enchanted Forest.”

“Inside the city walls?”

“Yes.”

Emma forced herself to breathe. 

“Thank you for your time.”

The assassin nodded, and Emma took it as dismissal, turning and leaving without looking back. The Jolly Roger was ahead and to the left- west. She followed the cobblestone roads south, hoping to find some small patch of private land to rest and think. She eventually found herself at the outskirts of town, in a meadow, flowers near blossoming and the grass damp with rain when Emma lay upon it, staring at the sky. The clouds, fresh form the newly fallen rain, fluttered through the air as easily as falling leaves. Emma watched them.

Taking a deep breath, trying not to feel as though she’d learnt nothing of use, she blinked away the tears rising in her eyes. She knew little of this town, so far from her home, but she had heard her mother speak of the people of it- some had protected her from the Evil Queen when she fled for her life. It had been much smaller than it was now, invested in and prospering under her mother’s watchful eye. 

She closed her eyes, feeling as though everything she’d done up to this moment had been a waste of time.

A thousand gold pieces was a sum so great Emma couldn’t even quantify it. It seemed as though she’d finally reached the moment her grand quest, her wonderful adventure would end, because no amount of protection or running would help her escape. She may as well lay there until the ground entangled its vines with her bones.

After some time had passed, wondering how untouched the meadow was and if she could do just that, Emma heaved herself to sitting, wiping away the last of her tears, she neck stiff with the ache of cold. She heaved herself to standing, dusting off the grass and the mud from her skirts and shoes as best she could, trudging back to the ship.

Emma crossed the gangplank carefully, avoiding the eye contact of the crew. Saito rushed to her side but she waved him away, and she ignored Hook’s distant shout for her attention. In the captain’s quarters, she closed the door behind her.

She dropped onto Hook’s bed as he followed her in, his shutting the door far less controlled than hers, slamming it shut behind him.

She closed her eyes, measuring her breathing.

“You took an hour. Where the bloody hell did you disappear to?” he snapped. “I sent a search party!”

Emma swallowed, staring at the floor in front of her. “I’m sorry.”

Hook’s hard glare smoothed, just around the edges. “Are you alright?”

“I learnt nothing of use. The price currently for my heart is a thousand pieces of gold.”

“A thousand?” Hook asked, eyes wide.

“Before you even think of handing me over, I’ll pay you three to get me home safely.”

He rolled his eyes, holding back his correction of her understanding of his reaction.

“And she had no idea who it was, except that he lives in the Enchanted Forest’s walls, which we already guessed.” She suddenly felt exhausted, head resting in her hands, bent over herself.

“Were you really talking to the assassin the whole time?”

“No. I was thinking,” she said, and Hook’s eyes followed her as she sighed and fell flat on his bed. Her chest rose and fell, every breath steadier than the last.

“About?”

She shook her head.

“Tell me.”

“I don’t have to tell you what I’m thinking.”

“Of course you don’t.”

He sat down, watching her with the kind of serenity he only felt on warm, breezeless days floating in the middle of the ocean. Emma raised her head to look at him, and smiled with the corner of her mouth, and dropped back down. “I was thinking about giving up and going home. I thought I’d rather die at home.”

Hook had too many responses, so he picked the one most important to him. “You’re not going to die.”

“I might, yet.” Throwing her arm upwards, she rested her forearm against her forehead, closing her eyes, too comfortable to move. Perhaps she’d been amongst pirates too long, but they cared so little about sitting straight and talking in quiet, civilised tones or even looking at each other most of the time, Emma found she didn’t either. “We won’t know until this is over.”

“Are you going home?”

“I would’ve already if I was going to. I’m not ready to give up.”

His hand placed itself on her knee, and she pretended not to smile. “I didn’t think you would be.”

Emma hummed, but didn’t answer. She heaved herself to sitting, and his hand fell away. “You know, we don’t have a trail to follow. Where do we go next?”

“There’s a town with a bar the crew rather likes just across the border. We were already going to head due west, and it shouldn’t take more than an hour to reach it.” He winked at her. “So for tonight, you can drink your sorrows away.”

Emma shook her head and smiled. “That sounds like a dangerous challenge.”

Hook stood, looking at her. Her cheeks weren’t as flushed as usual, but the redness around her eyes was paling and the brightness of them had returned like sun after a clouded day.

“You’ll be fine, princess.”

Emma’s eyes didn’t leave his. “I know.”

He ducked his head away, and she could have sworn he was smiling as he excused himself to see to his crew. She followed him out, and to the few crew who glanced her way it did seem like she was blushing, and she didn’t know why they were smirking to themselves. The sails creaked above them, but Emma didn’t jump at it the way she had done her first week, too well acquainted with the ship’s quirks to be surprised. Hook was stood and the helm as they peeled away from the dock.

“There’s something beautiful about this ship,” Emma said, leaning against the railings in front of him to watch his crew work.

“She’s free.”

When she glanced back at him, he was already gazing at her, and she looked away. “Perhaps.”

***

The bar the men were so fond of was dark and overly warm, with sticky tables and cheap alcohol, but the occupants were loud and full of laughter, and the barman seemed to have no surprise at a full crew of pirates walking in.  
Emma sipped her wine, never more appreciative of the fine drinks her mother and father were gifted with by foreign merchants and nobles. She kept a close eye on the door, tempted to pull the hood of her cloak over her head just in case.

“Relax, lass,” Hook said, resting his hand on her forearm. He seemed quite steady, despite a third of his bottle of rum already gone. “You walked in with a crew of pirates; no one’s going to recognise you.”

Her heart fluttered, but she didn’t look away from him. His words weren’t slurred, but his smile was easier and the fine lines around his eyes relaxed. 

“How drunk are you getting tonight? Will I have to carry you back?”

Hook grinned. “I doubt you’ll have to carry me. Prop me up, perhaps…”

“Quite drunk, then.” She sipped again.

His tongue lingered on his lips for a moment, still smirking. “Aye. I don’t suppose you’ve ever been more than giggling after champagne, have you?”

She hid her grin behind her wine, but he saw. “Of course I have.”

“But you seem like such a sweet girl,” he said, and she shot him a glare he brushed off by winking at her. “Do tell.”

She rolled her eyes. “There was a party a couple of months after I met you. I had an upsetting conversation with a guest late into the evening, and I didn’t stop drinking, and my father sent me to bed as soon as the guests left. I could barely stand.”

“Not very royal of you.”

Emma gestured to the already rabble-rousing crew of his. “They’re drunk and you’re not. Not very _pirate_ of you.”

He laughed, taking another gulp and watching his crew.

Michaela was sat with her husband in their own corner the way Hook and Emma were, their laughter the secret kind lovers have. The rest were roaring, drinking too much whiskey and mead, making passes at the barmaids and singing unrestrainedly.

Emma mulled over her wine. “Have you met Annalise? What’s she like? Saito’s mentioned her before.”

“She’s far too good for him, except he adores her.”

Emma smiled, eyes softer as she watched him. “Then she’s lucky.”

Hook laughed. “I’m sure it’s hard to find men to love beautiful princesses.”

“Beauty? Yes. The title? Yes. Me? No nobleman I’ve met.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t limit yourself to noblemen,” Hook said, winking and drinking. 

Emma smiled, but said nothing. Her only true option was a partner of noble blood, unless it was a matter of the heart. Her parents so often reminded her they would not see her unhappily married, but she could not help but think they would have to for the sake of the kingdom. Fiddling with the end of her plait, she flicked it away. “Perhaps Cole would consider me if he knew my wealth would be his.”

Hook rolled his eyes, pouring himself another drink. His expression dropped into a frown, glancing at Emma.

“What?”

“You do trust me, don’t you? You don’t trust my crew… but you trust me?”

“I wouldn’t have a reason to be on board your ship if I didn’t trust you.”

He nodded, but his eyebrows were drawn together, and he was staring at his drink.

“That’s not all. Come on, what’s wrong?”

“You are still afraid of me. The nightmares-”

“Are easing,” she said, leaning closer to him. She took his hand in both of hers. “Killian, you didn’t know the nightmares before I knew you didn’t send those letters.”

She woke the whole palace, screams thrown off the walls so fiercely her parents thought she’d been murdered, hours every night spent shivering and shaking, legs curled to her chest and eyes unseeing except for the bright blue eyes and silver hook embroidered into her eyelids. 

“You wake up crying.”

Hook thought of beads of sweat clinging to stray hairs, wide terrified eyes and hands snatching at air and blankets to find some anchor to the world she was in.

She tilted her head in acknowledgement. “You’re just the person I met on your ship months ago. It makes you dangerous, but it doesn’t make you the monster I thought you were.”

Her hands were cooler than his, the rum warming him from the inside, and he held her a little tighter. She was the kind of person who had a smile that could shake you so you would never be the same, a laugh that would bring demons to their knees, a touch that could compel you to devotion. 

Emma wasn’t sure he noticed, but he rested his hook next to their clasped hands as if to say he wished he could hold her with both of his own. She swallowed, looking at them. “Why did you come back?”

Blinking, he tilted his head. “When?”

“That night, at the palace. You came to kill me.” There was something of a smile on her lips.

Hook sighed, running his hand through his hair, leaning back and pulling away. They were both colder for it. “I’d had suspicions about your identity, but it wasn’t worth trying to find out. We boarded a ship on route to the Isles of Mercia, and they hadn’t any cargo of value. They were dropping off some noble in your kingdom, they said, and left everything with this duke who was visiting you, and it riled something in me. I had to know.”

“How did you find out for certain?”

Faintly amused, he took another drink. “You walked into your chambers.”

“You didn’t know until then?”

“No.”

Emma raised her eyebrow, and said nothing.

He cleared his throat. “The man you met,” he said. “On my ship, all those months ago. I’m not sure he exists anymore.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No.” Hook leaned in again. “Emma, I-”

“Captain!”

A woman in a too-tight, too-revealing dress entered the bar, beelining for their table.

“I heard the Jolly Roger was in town,” she said, flicking her dark hair over her shoulder. “How are you, sugar?”

Emma assumed she no longer existed, Hook's finding his drink again, watching the woman over it.

“I’m well, darling,” Hook said. “How’s business?”

“Not the same without you,” she purred, sitting next to him and sliding her hand up his thigh. “What do you say, Captain? I know exactly what you want…”

“I’m getting another drink,” Emma said, standing and going to the bar without waiting for a reply.

Stood at the bar, she ordered the same as her last drink. She remembered the throbbing in her head from the last time she drank too much.

A dark haired, thickly wired man was sat at the bar nursing a drink, and he caught Emma’s eye. “Hello, beautiful. You look awful lonely.”

She smiled, but didn’t say anything.

“Do you have a name?”

“No,” she said. “Do you?”

“We should both have names, or neither.”

She smiled. “You’re a smart man.”

“Join me.”

She slipped into the seat next to him, taking her drink with her.

“What brings you into town?”

Emma decided to be playful with the truth. “I’m trying to find someone. What about you? Do you live here?”

“No, no. I’ve been here a few times, though, so I would have remembered you. I’m a merchant, so I travel between kingdoms often.”

“Ah. See, this is my first adventure.”

“How are you liking it so far?”

“It depends on the day, but I’ve loved most of it.” She glanced towards Hook, who was still deeply engaged with the woman.

“Are you with the pirates?”

“I’m travelling with them, yes.” Her drink tasted strange, but she kept drinking anyway.

“Dangerous game you’re playing there, beautiful. They’ll rip someone like you to pieces given the chance,” he warned, nodding towards them.

“My adventures aren’t small.”

“Them lot always have a brawl,” the bartender said, “but they’re always decent enough to do it outside.”

Emma nodded. “See? I’ve found the best pirates, clearly.”

“By the way, I’ve heard news of the border,” the bartender said to the merchant, polishing glasses in hand. “There’s been an increase of security at the borders of the Enchanted  
Forest, and the city is all but completely sealed off.”

The merchant cursed. “Why? Will I not be able to cross at all?”

“It will be difficult, but you might be able to. They’re wary of invasion- apparently, the queen has fallen ill.”

Emma whipped up her head, so fast she felt dizzy. “What? How ill?”

“Very. There are rumours the princess disappearing is what’s caused it; she’s pining after her daughter. She’s bedridden.”

Emma’s glass went slack in her hand and she left it as she stood.

“Excuse me,” she said, staring at the bartender. “I’m sorry, I have to…”

She turned around, taking a few seconds to focus on the table where Hook had been and stumble towards it before a hand found her waist, securing her balance. She clung onto the arm- it was the merchant.

“Are you alright?”

“I need to find… Killian. The captain.”

Her words were slurred, and she couldn’t put her feet in the right place, her ankles were buckling underneath her, and she couldn’t see anyone in the room anymore.

“Do you need fresh air?”

“No, I-”

“Come on, let’s get you outside.”

She didn’t understand how they were inside one moment and outside another, but they were and her head was swimming and she couldn’t talk properly-

“What the bloody hell-?”

“She needed air.”

“Lass- oi, Emma, look at me.”

She did, blinking several times before registering Hook. “Killian, Killian… I need to talk to you.”

“Are you alright?”

“No,” she said slowly. “I’m- um, I’m-”

“You did put something in her drink.”

Emma could hear the whole conversation, but she couldn’t take any of it in fast enough to join in.

“I didn’t-”

“Aye? One of my crew saw you. She’s only had two tonight.”

“I was just worried about her, it must’ve been someone else-”

“Mate, I don’t care enough to argue. Let her go.”

The hand gripping her upper arm tightened, and Emma realised it should hurt.

“Look. Just- man to man, it’s been a while for me, and I promise I’ll bring her back in an hour. She won’t even remember.” There was a pause. “Forget paying a whore, you could have a go too, if you wanted.”

There was a strange sound, a kind of squelching gasp a frog would make if you stood on it, and a thud.

Emma swayed a little; the hand gone, she didn’t know how much it was holding her steady until it wasn’t. 

She tried to turn and follow the sound of his voice, but Killian swam into view again. He cupped her face with his hand, eyes searching hers, and she wanted to sleep.

“Emma, are you hurt?”

“My mother.” She couldn’t understand what she would otherwise feel, although in her haze she could tell she was supposed to feel more than nothing. She didn’t even feel cold. 

“What about her?”

“She’s ill, he said she’s ill… my head hurts.” Her words were half the speed of Hook’s.

“Who said she’s ill?”

“The man- he said the queen’s ill. The city’s sealed off, I can’t go home.”

“I’m not going to get much out of you, am I?” His hand left her face, wrapping an arm around her waist and guiding her into a slow walk. “That’s it, c’mon.”

“I do want to. But I don’t want to die.” She wasn’t sure when the tears started streaming down her face, but there they were.

“You’re not going to die, princess, not on my watch.”

“She’s ill because of me. I should go back. I deserve to die.”

“Okay, no. This is whatever the bloody hell he’s given you that’s talking. Come one, I’m getting Smee and we’re going back to the ship.”

“It’s my fault.”

He steered her back into the inn, and she couldn’t recall anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thrive on your commentsss
> 
> Warnings: Emma is drugged by a stranger. He leads her out of the bar they're in, but Hook catches up to them and the strangers tries to convince Hook to let him go with Emma, but Hook deals with him and takes Emma to safety.


	7. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of their night of drinking hits Emma harder than any of them thought it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's going to be Friday posting from now on, I'm working on Saturdays :)

The next morning, she awoke with a headache. Relaxed in the desk chair pulled up next to the bed, Hook’s eyes were half closed.

“Hook?” she croaked. 

He sat up straight, taking her in for a moment before passing her a glass of water from a pitcher. “Morning, princess. How’re you feeling?”

“How much did I drink last night?” she said, headache thrumming.

“Not much, just the wrong stuff. A man slipped you something.”

She frowned, easing herself to sitting and pressing a hand to her forehead. “Yeah, I was… looking for you? He took me outside…”

“Yeah.” He bit his lip, twisting his hook in and out of its holder, clicking every time it secured. “He was halfway down the street with you when I found you.”

Emma stared at him, open-mouthed. “ _What?_ " 

“I suddenly realised you’d gone- I thought you were right there, and then the bartender said you’d left with a man. I didn’t think that was right, but it turns out he’d taken you.”

Emma swallowed, trying to force the bile back down her throat. “Gods.”

Hook held his hand up, placating. “I wouldn’t think about it too hard.”

Emma bit her lip, holding her breath so as to hold in a whimper. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to shed them, it being all she could think about- his face, the few words she remembered him saying.

She looked to Hook, hoping for the kind of small words of hope he gave her after a nightmare, but he had resumed playing with his hook, staring at it with unblinking eyes. Emma suspected he was deliberately not looking her way. She cast her mind back to her hazy memories; a strange gasp she couldn’t place at the time.

“What happened to him?”

The noise replayed itself over and over in her head, and he said nothing- her eyes fell to his hook too. 

“You won’t have been the first girl he did that to,” he said, voice devoid of emotion. “Women who travel with pirates don’t get protected.”

“You killed him.”

He exhaled, eyes closing as he hung his head, hand finally leaving his hook locked in place. “I ripped out his throat.”

Ignoring her churning stomach and thumping head, ignoring the urge to shudder, she threw aside the blankets. Kneeling at the edge of the bed, she snagged him by the hook and the wrist to pull him to standing and into a hug.

“That- I-,” she said, burying her face in his chest, the sobs shaking through her. “I don’t-”

Not knowing what else to do, he wrapped his arms around her in return, and she seemed so small in his arms. “Emma.” 

“-th-thank you.”

Hook paused, negotiating his understanding of her. He pressed her close, hand cradling the back of her head, breathing his words into her hair. “You’re welcome.”

Through her shirt the cool metal of his hook pressed against her shoulder blade, shivers rippling down her back, her hands taking fistfuls of his shirt. She breathed him in until she’d steadied herself, wiping the tears away.

He helped lower her back to the bed, her hand pressed to her stitches, wincing.

“I thought you’d be afraid,” he said, leaning away but holding her gaze.

Snorting, she wiped her eyes with the edge of the blankets. “ Of you? No.”

“Or angry.”

“That was a safer bet,” she said, smiling up at him. He bowed his head in a nod, turning to leave. She looked around. “Is there a reason I’m in your bed?”

He smirked. “You insisted on it, princess.”

“Truly? That sounds inappropriate.”

Winking, he tried not to grin at her quirked eyebrow. “Aye. It was.”

Emma smiled to herself, pouring herself another glass of water, and he moved to the door. “Oh wait-”

He paused, fingers hovering above the door handle.

“Last night. Did I talk about my mother? Please tell me I didn’t give you more trouble and announced my identity.”

“You did talk about her, but only to me,” Hook said, not looking her way.

“Oh, good.” She winced, holding her forehead and downing an entire cup of water in one go.

He watched her taking a deep breath. “You said you heard rumours she was unwell.”

Emma stared at him, but he avoided her gaze. “I did?”

“I had Smee ask around before we left this morning. It appears to be true- it’s difficult to cross the border, and no one can get in or out of the city at all.”

Emma didn’t know which question to ask, so the least important fell out of her mouth first. “Is there a threat of invasion?”

“There’s a threat, but no one seems to dare act on it,” he said. “Your people are too loyal to the royal family.”

Emma nodded, staring at the chest of drawers opposite the bed. “My parents take pride in giving the people what they deserve.”

Hook waited, and Emma ordered her thoughts.

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure, it’s being kept quiet.”

“Is she well?”

“It seems she will be.”

Emma leant over, back arched over and head in hands. “You lie.”

“I’m not-”

“I can tell, Killian. Please.”

Sighing, Hook felt like he was developing a hangover himself, rubbing his temples. “She was riding in the woods with a royal guard, asking village to village about you. She fell off her horse, as far as I can gather.”

He couldn’t see the way Emma’s face twisted in pain, but he could see her hands ball in into fists in her hair, yanking at the roots in a way she didn’t seem to feel.

“Will she recover?”

“Lass…”

“Tell me.”

“She hit her head. She has yet to wake. I don’t know.”

He wanted to stay, but he closed the door behind him to leave her to cry in privacy.

***

The door to the captain’s quarters stayed firmly shut the whole day, Hook unable to bring himself to intrude and Emma seeming unable to bring herself to emerge. He set a course to one of the nearest towns to the edge of the Enchanted Forest, in the hopes the precaution would not be necessary.

If she were to return to the palace, she would be in more danger than ever. She had openly admitted in her letter she had gone in search of the man who was sending her those letters, and her most trusted advisors were the ones who would have been told so. They were all under suspicion.

He had talked himself into believing she would be at an advantage on his ship until he took her food to her himself. She was curled at the bottom of his bed, on top of the sheets. She whipped up the moment he walked in.

Her cheeks were wet with tears. “Perhaps it’s a ploy, to get me to come home. Perhaps she’s fine and my parents are doing to get me home, perhaps none of it’s true,” she said, almost begging him to agree with her.

“I think your parents want you back, but I don’t think they would seal the city if this were to do that.”

She eyes sank closed, biting her lip and more tears escaped. “Oh gods.”

Saying nothing else, she curled back on the bed, and the next morning the food he left her was untouched.

He mentioned the food to her, but she shook her head. “I can’t. There’s a lump in my throat and I just… can’t.”

For a moment, he wanted to argue with her to eat something, but he remembered the lump in his throat. His brother died, and he had to live with the kind of dull ache the lump in his throat brought, impossible to ignore. After Milah, he hadn’t so much a lump as a rock in the pit of his stomach.

“Then you must drink. You’ll dehydrate otherwise.”

“I-” 

“No arguments,” he said, passing her a glass of water. “Captain’s orders.”

Emma smiled, sitting up, but the bags under her eyes and deadness in them betrayed her. “Thank you, Killian.”

The sound of his name on her tongue was akin to the sound of a wave crashing against the sand of an empty beach. She did not understand the power in it. “You’re welcome.” 

Emma sipped her water, watching him. She brushed away her tears. “What’s the most drunk you’ve ever been?”

He raised an eyebrow at her, smiling. “Why do you want to know?”

“So I don’t feel as terrible for last night,” Emma shrugged, and Hook laughed out loud.

“Last night wasn’t your fault.”

“I still couldn’t walk properly. Or remember most of it.”

Hook considered, thinking. “Three years ago. The crew and I- uh, acquired a great deal of gold from an overly laden merchant ship, and it was enough to make us… jolly. I don’t remember anything past my sixth drink.”

She grinned. “Did you do anything stupid?”

Hook rolled his eyes. “Aye, probably. But my rotten crew told me so many stories of what I did that night, I can’t tell you what’s true.”

“Go on, tell me one anyway.” Her smile was a little mischievous, and Hook couldn’t help but think she hadn’t looked more dangerous.

“Perhaps the most amusing is that I paid a woman to slap me.”

Emma frowned in confusion.

“Apparently, I thought if I was slapped hard enough, it would slap me into sobriety. As I understand it, I merely fell over.”

Emma laughed, drinking more water. “That is… rather silly.”

“It sounds like something I’d do,” Hook shrugged, grinning. “So when you got drunk at the palace at your party…”

“Oh- we talked about that?- I suffered a dreadful headache the next day, but I’m not sure I did anything terribly embarrassing.”

Hook rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you did something.”

She scrunched her face up in concentration, thinking. “I did tell one of the men at the party he was the sweetest man I’d ever met.”

It was Hook’s time to be sceptical. “That doesn’t sound awful.”

Emma sighed. “It probably was. It was a lie.”

“Lying isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” Hook said, thinking if she ever said something like that to him he might die of shock.

“We’d talked a lot at the party, making fun of the other guests and I thought I’d found something in him I liked, but we separated off from the party and he… oh, I don’t know. He made me uncomfortable. I can’t explain why, there was just something about him.”

Hook nodded. “Aye. Sometimes you just know, don’t you? It’s nothing they’ve done, you can just tell.”

Emma thought of her father, dismissing her concerns. He believed Lord Caspian was a good man, so of course his son was too. 

She nodded at Hook. “Hunter tried to kiss me. So when I got drunk, I told him he was the sweetest man I’d ever met and flirted with him, but I never had any intention of speaking to him again. It was cruel.”

Hook watched her. She was looking at the half drunk water in her hands, rubbing her thumb up and down the handle.

“I’m sure he’s over it.”

He wasn’t, though. Hook wasn’t sure he would ever get over words like that spoken to him by her.

She smiled up at him, but her eyes were tight. “I’m sure. But you know, I said I didn’t want to be at the party, and he asked me what I wanted. I said freedom. Like on a ship, sailing anywhere I felt like going.”

Hook didn’t know what to say.

“This is the closest I’ve ever been to freedom.” Emma smiled, but there were tears in her eyes. “And it doesn’t feel like I’m free at all.”

“You can stay.” He doesn’t know what makes him say it, but he can’t snatch it back out of the air.

Emma smiles, but there’s the pain of duty and the tug of bravery making her say no. “I can’t abandon the life I was born to live.”

He nods, and knows he shouldn’t have said it, disappointed at the answer anyway.

“He told me I was safe in the palace, that day. I’d said I was afraid of you, after everything, and he told me he’d protect me. He was telling the truth, I could tell, I just…”

“You don’t need to fear me.”

“I know. I don’t.”

Gently, he touched a kiss to her cheek, arm around her shoulders. She leaned her head against his chest.

If she wasn’t so wrapped in the moment his lips pressed against her, and if he wasn’t so wrapped in her pain, they might have noticed the importance of what she’d said.

***

Dawn of the third morning saw pink, orange and red skies and Hook’s order to dock as soon as possible. Emma asked why they were moving so fast, and he told her the truth- there was a storm on its way, and not one they should be in the path of.

Saito asked after her, and Hook merely shook his head. He’d told the crew she’d been taken ill after the stress of being drugged and the chill in the air that night, and it was true she was drawn in the face, all joy drained out of her eyes. No one went near her in fear of taking ill themselves, but Saito seemed to have no qualms about doing so, and Hook had to speak to him.

“She’s ill, she needs rest-”

“I enjoy her company, and if she wishes to tell me to leave I will, of course, respect that. She might want to talk.”

“No, Saito. She’s sleeping twenty hours a day and dozing the rest. She’s not even eating- you need to leave her alone.”

Saito sighed, watching his captain for a moment, before finally leaning in, speaking low and fast. “There’s something you’re not telling us about her. I know you’re hiding something, and she’s different than any servant I’ve met, not to mention the way you look at her.”

Hook raised his eyebrows, hand and hook resting through loops on his belt. “Aye? And how do I look at her, Saito?”

Saito ran his hands through his hair, brushing it out of his eyes. “Like it’s painful. You look at her like she’s sun and she’s blinding you but you can’t look away.”

“What the devil does that to do with anything?” Hook said, recoiling and clenching his fist.

“It’s like you can’t let yourself love her,” Saito said. “Whatever you’re hiding, it’s getting in the way.”

Hook laughed, but not the way he did with Emma. His eyes betrayed the cold and dark. “She’s my bargaining chip and prisoner, Saito. Nothing more than that.”

Saito ignored him, brushing off his dismissal. “She looks at you the same way, you know.”

“Even if-” Hook started, forcing his angry tone lower for there were pirates all around them. “Even if I felt anything for her, she’s returning to the palace once this is done. I need her for gold. Nothing more.”

Saito shook his head. “If the mistakes I made with Annalise taught me anything, it’s no amount of water between the two of you will make you forget each other. She’s- Captain. Come on. If I weren’t famously, madly in love with Annalise we both know you would have seen me as a threat for talking to her.”

“I wouldn’t-”

“Really?” Saito said, eyebrow raised. “So any man could talk to her, flirt with her, hold her in his arms and kiss her and you wouldn’t mind? If you returned to the kingdom and learnt of her engagement or marriage, you wouldn’t feel as though your heart had been ripped out of your chest? You do _know_ she's to be engaged, don't you?"

Hook shoved Saito towards the brig as a dismissal, barking orders to his men as they whipped through the deceptively calm waters. He tried not to think of Emma’s happiness, an immeasurable mystery he could not decide for her. He could only decide his own.

The waters begin to stir, black clouds and storms chasing them to port. Storms were never to be outrunned or outsmarted, only endured.

He felt as ill as he pretended Emma was, but he couldn’t hide in his quarters, for Emma was there. She was curled up in his bed, crying over her mother. Her happiness was freedom, she’d said. But this wasn’t freedom, this was torture and a prison.

Saito’s words ricocheted around his head, but they finally didn’t hurt. They gave him an idea.

He called for the attention of his crew.

***

Emma stared down the list of people she’d written weeks before. All of them knew fully what had happened to her, and the list could be counted on one hand.

Her father, her mother, Sir Lawrence, the knights, and Cara, who’d been the one to realise she was missing and was often the one to wake her after a nightmare.

None of them had a reason to hurt her. Most of them she already considered being so close to her jealousy would be unnecessary. None of them she even believed capable of the kind of malice necessary to pen those letters. 

Tears rising in her eyes and a lump her throat, she couldn’t look at the list anymore. Without even consciously making the decision to, she shredded it until the parchment were squares no bigger than her fingernails. They were scattered across the desk and her head was in her hands when Hook walked in, easing the door shut behind him at the sight of the mess.

“Lass?”

“If we’d found something, _anything_ ,” she said, eyes closed. “It would have been worth it. But we haven’t, and my mother might be dying.”

“This admirer of yours hides his identity well- we’re doing all we can.”

“Going back would draw him out. He’d probably kill me before I had the chance to tell anyone who he was, but at least I’d know,” she said, and she could feel her hands shaking. 

Guilt and fear and anger welled up inside her, and she found herself standing, pacing the room. “I don’t know what to do, I can’t do this anymore but I don’t know what else I _can_ do-”

“Emma.” Hook held one of her shaking hands, hook on her waist. “You’re tired, you haven’t eaten, you’re worried. You can’t think as clearly as I, and I’m telling you- we will find the answer.”

She swallowed, and he touched away her tears. She took a deep, steadying breath. “I’m sorry.”

Hook waved her away, letting her go and rummaging in his desk, bringing out a bottle of rum. “Drink?” he asked.

“Several,” she said, jumping up to sit on the desk and chugging the first glass he poured her with a wince. “That’s got a kick to it.”

Hook laughed, refilling it for her and sipping his own. He sat on the chair, feet propped up on the desk next to her. “It does. Pretty good stuff, this.”

Emma nodded, picking up the bottle and examining the label. “My father has it from time to time.”

“A drink of a king? It must be good,” Hook said, clearly delighted.

“A drink of a king and in the company of a princess,” Emma said. “What good fortune you have.”

“You’ve been nothing but trouble,” Hook said, pointing his hook at her, and a smile played with the corners of his mouth.

There was something about his eyes- it displaced Emma. They were lingering on her in ways they hadn’t before, on her lips and her bare neck and the flesh he could see and some she could see him imagining. She swallowed, turning away.

“I think you’re lying.”

“I think your little trick is nothing more than that. A trick.”

“Lying again. You’re not very good at this, are you?” she said, pouring herself another.

“You might want to slow down, princess.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “You’re awfully boring for a pirate.”

“That is an insult. It will not be taken lightly,” Hook warned, leaping to his feet in front of her.

Recklessness, borne out of fear, seeped into his veins like a poison. He stood so close her calves were grazing his thighs, and he leant in to reach the bottle. His eyes were locked on hers and she moved with him, their nosing almost touching, until his fingers found the bottle. He pulled back with a laugh, but his legs still pressed against hers as he took a swig straight from the bottle.

She took it out of his hands, doing the same.

“Tell me, captain,” she said, leaning back on desk until her head and shoulders rested against the wall. “How many hearts have you broken in this room?”

He watched her, and she couldn’t decipher the smirk on his lips.

“None, as far as I know.”

“A number I don’t believe.”

“Is your little trick telling you so, or just you?”

“Just me.”

“Perhaps you should pay attention to your little trick, then. Because I don’t break hearts.”

Emma sat up, and he took the bottle out of her hands and dropped it on the table beside her. She took hold of the edge of his shirt, dragging him closer. “Would you break mine?”

In a moment of gentleness she hadn’t expected, he tucked stray hairs behind her ears.

“I’m doing everything I can to keep your heart safe, love.”

She knew she would never be able to take it back, dropping his shirt and cupping his face, pulling his lips onto hers. His desperation as tangible as hers, he threaded fingers hid through her hair and hers ran under his shirt and up his chest. He broke away from her, and she almost objected until he used his grip in her hair to move her head and kiss her neck. She closed her eyes and whimpered, feeling him smirk against her, working his way along her jaw to her ear.

“Killian,” she said, her head swimming as the alcohol hit her.

“Aye?” he said, breath hot on her skin.

“I think perhaps…” she couldn’t find the words, but he slowly pulled away and waited. “This is very enjoyable, but I might have drunk too much.”

Hook closed his eyes, breathing, and nodded minutely. He touched her lips with his thumb, fingers resting against her jaw. “May I keep kissing you?”

“Yes. Please.”

She had never felt so utterly breathless, heart hammering in her chest, mind overwhelmed by the feeling of his lips, his tongue, his hands, her nails digging into his back and she was sure the crew would hear her moans. It was though he’d stripped her bare for all the ways she felt unwound, but eventually the rum caught up with her. He made her drink a glass of water before they fell into his bed, and she fell asleep on his chest. 

She dreamt of him.

***

Emma jerked awake in the middle of the night, the covers smothering her. She tried to thrash them off her, but Hook was awake too and he hushed her to sleep again, playing with her hair and whispering in her ear. She did not remember it in the morning.

***

The sun rose early and bright, the light streaming through the windows and waking Emma in Hook’s bed, alone. Buried in swathes of blankets she threw them all back, overheated and dehydrated from the rum. She lay there for some time, until she became so exasperated with herself she knew there was no excuse not to get up. She rolled out of the bed and changed.

Everything ached- her head was thrumming from the rum, and she was parched- but most of all her chest. It was like she’d never felt her heart beat until this moment, thudding through her ribs as though to remind her she was still alive, despite everything. Despite being in the hands of pirates, despite the man who wanted to murder her, despite the way it felt like her heart would fail her any moment.

When dressed, she took a deep breath. Her lungs finally felt like they could take in oxygen again, and for the first time in three days, she felt calm. Pulling on her shoes, she heard a hum of excitement outside; a shout followed by laughter.

She hurried out- only to stop still.

The crew were filing off the ship, laughing and joking, but Emma could not see them past the men still stood on deck. 

Her father was with Hook. The former stood straight, his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword, staring into the distance, and the latter lent against a barrel, ignoring her father and examining his hook.

They were docked in at her parent’s kingdom, and this was the very place she had been abducted all those months before.

Taking each step lightly, she backed up, trying to think of another way out of the cabin. She was mid-thought, considering jumping into the sea from a cabin window when Hook spotted her.

He smiled, but there was something twisted about it.

“Ah! Lass! We’re here,” he said, as though pleased.

Her father set eyes on her, exhaled, and strode over to her to sweep her up in a hug before she could say anything.

“Emma,” he breathed. “We’ve been so worried.”

Emma shoved her father away, his safe embrace a death sentence. “What have you done?” she said, staring at Hook.

He shrugged. “Your father offered me a better deal. Never trust a pirate, love.”

“Emma, it’s not safe here,” her father said, taking her by the wrist. “You’re coming home.”

She snatched away from him, backing away. “No, I’m not safe at the palace. Father, the writer- he’s not Hook, he’s someone in the palace, and I can’t guarantee my safety- what if they help get an assassin in again? I need to stay away. I’m safer.”

The king nodded, although she recognised it well. It was paired with sympathetic eyes and hands held out placidly, as though to calm her down. “Emma. You’re scared. I know that. But I promise you, you have nothing to be afraid of. I will protect you with my life. You’re on a _pirate_ ship, Emma. You’re trusting the people who kidnapped you more than you trust us. Your mother and I- we’ll never let anyone hurt you.”

She shook her head, tears overwhelming her again. “It’s my best chance.”

“It’s not. Emma, you can’t stay here.”

“Princess, your father’s right,” Hook said, lent against a barrel. “I don’t want you on my ship; you can’t stay here.”

Emma watched him watching her, unable to look away. She didn’t understand- the way he’d held her, she couldn’t understand. “I trusted you,” she said. “I thought-”

She cut herself off, and Hook looked away, examining his hook. Emma stared at him. As though her body was someone else’s, she closed the gap between them by a few steps. It caught his attention.

“Please,” she said. A few more steps. She was crying now. Gods, was she scared. Her hand rested on his forearm. “Please, Hook. Let me stay. Please don’t-”

Hook sighed, standing and shaking her off. He gestured to the king. “Aren’t you bored of the dramatics? Just take her already.”

Arms scooped her up from behind, throwing her over her father’s shoulder.

“NO!” Emma screamed, trying wriggle out of his arms, but his grip was too tight. “No, Killian, please- I can’t go back, I’ll die- _please_! Killian! KILLIAN!”

Her father walked across the gangplank, throwing her into the arms of a knight on horseback.

“Get her back to the palace,” he ordered. “No matter what she tries.”

“Killian?” she said, unable to control the way her body was shaking. She couldn’t breathe. “Please.”

***

Hook was in his cabin that night, when the crew returned. He couldn’t sleep. The way Emma had screamed his name- as though he were the last person on earth, as though everything she believed him to be had shattered- rang in his ears every time he lay down. 

It didn’t help the blankets smelled like her, she’d left her jacket draped over his chair and a few of the pins she used to secure her hair were scattered across the desk, even the floor. Tokens, he thought, of the fleeting time she’d lived here, breathing life into the ship the way she’d breathed it into him.

For the first time in years, he locked the chest at the foot of his bed, something more precious than his life hidden amongst Milah’s possessions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh last chapter I forgot to say my thank-yous so for chapter 5, thank you brandidog, KiwistreetSwan, acasto03, Roseyflush and KK1986, and for chapter 6 thank you brandidog, KiwistreetSwan and TheBookJumper :) Your words and time mean a hella lot to me.  
> Also, to KiwistreetSwan... yeah. The merchant did not get off lightly.


	8. VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma returns home, and she's conflicted by her options.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE REREAD LAST CHAPTER IF YOU READ IT SATURDAY OR EARLIER  
> For some reason there was a problem in that a chunk of the chapter was missing. Somehow, it still made coherent sense, but an important plot point has been missed, so please check you've read it all.  
> THANK YOU

The further she was from the ship, the less she cared. Her tears dissipated and her fear became mere memory, a kind of numbness settling over her like a blanket. The knight’s grip was too tight, his armour digging into her waist and back, but they galloped through the town and Emma was couldn’t help but be grateful the city was much the same, its people busy with their usual lives. Their path was unusually clear and it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes before they were within the palace walls.

The knight lowered her off the horse, handing her straight back her father’s arms. She hugged back automatically.

“You will be safe, I promise,” he said into her ear, grip tight.

Emma nodded. “How’s-”

“Your mother’s well, I assume you heard-? Anyway, she awoke last night and she’s desperate to see you. Perhaps you should get cleaned up-”

Emma rolled her eyes at her father. She may be covered in grime, dried blood- some her own- and the kind of muck accumulated over weeks without regular bathing, but if he thought he could make her return to her room before seeing her mother he was mistaken.

“Of course. I assume it’s the first thing you did too, upon hearing she was hurt? Take a bath?”

“I did not smell like you do. It might make her ill again.”

“Oh, father, you’re so delightful,” she said, turning on her heel to march up the steps to the door. “In your room?”

“She might be sleeping,” he said, hurrying after her and indicating a knight follow them. “In the kitchens, there’s a maid called Cara. Please see to it that she comes to my chambers at once.”

“How is Cara?” Emma asked him over her shoulder absently, practically running up a winding staircase.

“She’s fine. More than a little anxious about you.”

She waved him away. “She needn’t have worried. No one should have -”

“Don’t even say it, Emma. This is the most outrageous thing you’ve ever done, and if you think you’re getting off lightly once we’re over our relief, I’m afraid you’re going to be taken aback.”

“Dying will be punishment enough,” Emma said through gritted teeth, shoving open the doors to her parents’ rooms.

“Emma!”

Her mother sat bolt upright, and Emma could see her shake away dizziness as she approached the bed and embraced her. She smelled like rosemary, she was warm and she felt safe, and Emma closed her eyes and held her as tight as her mother held her.

This was the moment she’d been waiting for- seeing her mother, safe. She could feel her mother’s tears splashing down on her shoulder, her father watching them, sat at the desk and seeming to Emma years wearier, and Emma expected to feel choked up, or guilty, or relieved, or scared-

Instead, she felt numb.

“Oh, Emma, I’m so glad you’re back safe,” her mother breathed in her ear. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”

“And I about you- I heard you fell off a horse.”

Snow sighed, letting Emma go and sharing a look with David. “I pushed myself too far, looking for you. I hadn’t slept in days, and fainted while I was riding, and hit my head. I’ve been bedridden ever since, on your father’s orders.”

“I needed to know you were being taken care of.”

Emma breathed out. She felt relief. “So you are well?”

“As well as I can be.”

“One more day,” David said, and Snow rolled her eyes, patting the bed next to her. Emma perched there, and Snow began combing her fingers through Emma’s ratted hair.

“You haven’t combed this in a long time.”

“I’ve been on an adventure,” Emma said, and David pointed a finger at her.

“Don’t make light of what you’ve done, Emma.”

Snow tutted at him. “Of all the utterly irresponsible things we did, Charming. Don’t begrudge her this.”

Emma sighed. “I was unwise to go.”

“You were.”

“I still feel like I made the best choice. I’m dead now I’ve returned.”

“We’ll have the knights with you day and night if that’s what it takes. We won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“And what kind of life is that? One where I have to fear turning a corner if someone hasn’t checked it for me first? That’s suffocating. I can’t do that.” James went to argue, but Emma cut across him. “I have plenty to tell you. First, you can be firmer in negotiations with Xavier, he’s not the one that sent the assassins after me.”

David stood, frowning. “What?”

“The writer sent them. I still don’t know who the writer is, but he’s within the walls of this city, he must have a great deal of money behind him and we can ask Gavrilo for more details.”

“Emma, how do you know all this? And who’s Gavrilo?”

“Gavrilo is the assassin I left in my bedchamber for you to find- you did find him, didn’t you?”

“He hasn’t spoken a word-”

“Well, perhaps you’re not asking the right questions. I’ll go to him myself. And I know all of this because I spoke to another assassin on my travels.”

David’s jaw dropped and Snow winced. “Emma…”

“I assure you, it was the least interesting moment of my trip. She told me how she’d been offered the job too, and told me as much as she could. I imagine Gavrilo can tell the rest.”

David rubbed his face. “We haven’t heard a whisper of you in all the time you’ve been gone. How have you managed this?”

“A few well-placed lies,” Emma said. She felt the urge to stand and pace. “In fact, I will get cleaned up now, and talk to Gavrilo immediately. I haven’t much time to waste,” she said, neatening the sheets she’d mussed and kissing her mother on the cheek.

“You’re only just back, you can’t go,” Snow said, sitting back up.

“I’m not leaving the palace. And besides, I have to save my life, and then I can tell you everything.”

“Are you so sure you’re going to die?”

“If I don’t stop the writer? Yes.”

Snow nodded. “Go. I’ll help you in any way I can, as soon as I’m allowed out of this bed. Until then, your father and the knights will watch over you.”

Emma smiled, kissing her cheek again. “Thank you.”

Cara opened the door to the chambers as Emma reached for the handle, and Cara threw her arms around her, panting in her ear from running.

“Your highness!”

Emma hugged her back. “Cara. I’ve missed you.”

“Are you well? Are you hurt? Do you need anything?” she said, pulling away and straightening her dress. “I can have food fetched for you, something warm-”

“That would be wonderful, but first I need your company,” Emma said, stroking her arm. “Walk with me to my chambers, I’m in desperate need of a bath and some fresh clothes.”

Cara nodded, and Emma fluttered her fingers in goodbye at her father, closing the door behind her. She turned to Sir Lawrence, who had posted himself outside the door.

“Everything I say to Cara is said in confidence,” she said. “And I expect you to act as though you don’t hear anything.”

Sir Lawrence bowed his head. “I assure you that will be the case, your highness.”

“Including to my father.”

“Your privacy will be respected.”

“Good.” Emma rolled her sleeves up. “Now, tell me, how have you been?”

Cara blinked. “I’m fine.”

“Anything interesting happen while I’ve been away?”

Knowing what events had happened in the palace and knowing what was going on were two entirely different things, and Cara had always been her route into the latter.

She gathered herself. “Ah- yes, actually. Do you remember Ayleth, the bookbinder?”

“A very sweet girl, as I recall. She was married last summer?”

“Yes, that’s her,” Cara said. “She is with child now!”

“Oh, that’s marvellous for her,” Emma said, and meant it. “How is she feeling?”

“Nervous, I think, but more about the child than the birth.”

“What wonderful news. I’ll visit her soon, give her my best wishes.”

“She’d like that. Some of her friends are giving her a hard time, I think.”

Emma rolled her eyes, their pace leisurely down a long stretch of corridor. “Why would they do that?”

“They don’t agree with her choices, marrying so young. They think she should have worked for longer first.”

Emma exhaled. “She’s twenty three. People have made sillier decisions than marrying for love.” If she had room in her head for it, she would probably be envious.

“She did marry beneath her standing.”

“Her friends should follow in her footsteps. She’s far braver and wiser than they are.”

Cara frowned. “Your highness?”

“Money is fickle. I live the kind of life many would kill to live, and yet if I lost it all...” she glanced around, touching the walls. “If I lost it all, I would still have my parents and you. Her friends might be well looked after if they marry up, but they won’t have what she does.”

Cara paused. “I didn’t think of it like that.”

“In any case, I met her husband. He seemed very gentle and kind.”

Agreeing, Cara filled her in on the lesser news, of quarrels and petty disputes within the palace. Emma was surprised to find she had been gone near a month. It felt like no time at all- in fact, she could barely remember it. It more seemed like a surreal dream, the kind she could only remember moments of, like her nightmares.

On arriving, Cara hurried to prepare her bath, but Emma was not in any rush. She directed Sir Lawrence to have a physician sent to her room.

Cara helped her undress, stifling a gasp at her arm, and biting her lip on seeing Emma’s stomach.

“It could have been a great deal worse,” she said, touching Cara’s arm. “And it barely hurts.”

The physician had very little to say about her arm, only that the scar was so well stitched it would likely fade over a few years. She took more time examining Emma’s stomach, laying her flat on the bed, pressing all around the wound and watching Emma’s movement with the impairment.

“This was very well dealt with,” she said, looking at the stitches. “There’s been no discolouration?”

“Nothing. I was seen by a physician and stayed in bed for a week, and I think it’s merely been healing.”

“That would be the way to handle such an injury.” The physician examined more closely. “Despite that, you will be scarred the rest of your life.”

Emma looked at the wound. It was one, long slit. The physician had opened it up further to have greater success with her internal wounds, and saved her life, but she could not help but wish it was smaller.

“I’m lucky to have my life,” Emma said, sitting up. “Cara, can you fetch some rose oil for my bath?”

“I’ll do it now,” Cara said, leaving them.

The physician began packing up her instruments. “I wouldn’t recommend any tight corsets in the next week or so, just to be sure. If you’re ever in any pain, call me back, and no strenuous activity for at least another three weeks.”

“I promise. Thank you so much for your help.”

“You’re welcome. I must say, you’re taking this very well.”

“There’s nothing I can do about it. Besides, I expected no less.”

“It will, at least, be hidden from public view,” the physician said, but Emma glared at her.

“Neither my father or my mother hide their scars. I will not either.”

“…of course, your highness. Do let me know if you need anything.”

“I will.”

Cara helped lower her into the bath, the physician gone. Emma worked on scrubbing the grime from under her nails and Cara washed her hair, combing the knots out.

“This feels good,” Emma said, the tips of her finger pink, but at least clean, while Cara massaged rose oil into her hair. “It might make me grateful to be back.”

“Were you not already?”

“I didn’t want to come back, truly. It’s very dangerous for me to be here. Speaking of that, have I received any letters from the writer since I left?”

Cara sighed. “It’s been quite sporadic. On the first Monday, he sent another, rather normal letter, but then on Wednesday there was one raging about how you’d left, and then they’ve been sporadic. Some weeks we had five and then others we had none at all.”

Emma took a deep breath. It didn’t bode well. “Thank you. I assume the letters are on my desk?”

“Yes.”

There was a rap on the door. Emma called out.

“Who is it?”

“Sir Lawrence, your highness.”

“Come in.”

Sir Lawrence entered and shut the door behind him again, on her seeing her bathing.

“Your mother would like you to know there will be a ceremony announcing your return this afternoon.”

Emma sat up, water splashing over the side of the tub, and her jaw dropped. “They can’t be serious.”

“They said the people need to know you’re well.”

“Tell them from the writer will certainly be in that crowd, and if they announce my return they will be telling him exactly where to find me.”

Sir Lawrence swallowed. “I don’t think they thought of that.”

“Their excitement is clouding their judgement,” Emma said, sitting back and feeling the urge to hit something. “Cancel it before word spreads I’m back.”

“At once, your highness.”

He left, and Emma whipped the scrubbing brush at the wall, Cara flinching. Emma murmured her apologies. Cara shook her head, pouring water through her hair, and Emma sighed, grateful she was there.

“They act like I’m too young to take care of myself but they’re endangering my life, over and over again.”

“They mean well.”

“Being well meaning is not enough.”

Cara bit her lip, saying nothing more. She braided Emma’s hair whilst she was still in the water, and helped her dress in light, loose fabrics, and refused to allow Emma to try to wear a corset. It was inadvisable to hurt herself for the sake of looks when she was keeping her presence a secret and no one would see her.

Agreeing, Emma picked out a plain cloak. She pulled the hood so low over her face was obscured.

“Do I look unassuming?”

“For what purpose?”

“Moving about the palace quietly.”

“Yes. Do you wish me to walk with you?”

Emma paused. “I’m not walking for recreational purposes. I’m going to question a prisoner in the dungeons.”

“Do you want me there?”

Emma took a deep breath, and nodded.

***

Gavrilo had a bed in the cell, but he sat in the corner, legs curled to his chest. Emma swallowed, lowering her hood, Cara just behind her.

“Gavrilo.”

The assassin looked up.

“You were meant to take my heart, but instead you tried to kill me. In some ways, that was merciful. Thank you.”

He didn’t react, looking at her.

“It isn’t enough to release you, but I’d like enough to press a case for banishment from this kingdom. The king and queen won’t yet be persuaded.”

“I nearly beheaded you.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I was quite unaware. Shall I leave?”

Gavrilo did not say either way.

“Do you have any information on the man who hired you?”

“He was a man.”

“Are you going to be useful to me or should I leave you to whatever fate my parents decide for you?”

Cara rocked her weight from one foot to the other, not looking at either of them.

Shaking his head, Gavrilo looked up at Emma. “I met him in The Griffin’s Claws, the bar in the lower town.”

“I know of it. Can you describe him to me?”

“Roughly six foot tall, muscular build, blonde hair. His walk was tall, careful, as though of noble blood, and his clothing reflected that. He came from money.”

“Age?”

“Twenty five, perhaps older.”

“Would you recognise him if you saw him again?”

Gavrilo nodded.

“Would you be willing to identify him for me, if I brought him to you?”

He nodded again.

“Can you tell me anything else?”

“Not of substance or use.”

“A name?”

“No.”

“Thank you. I will talk to the king and queen, regarding your sentencing.”

Without another word, she swept out of the dungeon with Cara at her heels, nodding at the guard they passed and pulling her hood up. She would have to convince her parents of leniency with Gavrilo, but if his information rang true she would fight for it. If they killed him when they would have to pay someone to do it, they would have to kill their executioner too- otherwise, there would be a double standard in play.

Finding Sir Lawrence, Emma sent him to the pub and waited on his return. The blonde, hooded man meeting various plain people hadn’t been in the pub in months, but the owner was wary of him and would report if he returned.

It hadn’t led to much, but an unsteady lead was better than no lead at all.

Her mother, with her father’s help, came to her room to share news. The announcement had been cancelled, no one had known what it was meant to be a celebration of, and rumours were spread that the queen was feeling better. A correlation would be drawn naturally.

Cara was excused to leave for the day, in the escort of a knight, because Emma could not, in good conscience, allow her to go unsupervised.

She hadn’t realised her parents’ plans for sleeping arrangements until later, when Sir Lawrence announced the room across the hall had been made up for them.

She tried to protest, but her mother told her it was not protection, but for their satisfaction, and she allowed it.

In the morning, her mother came in and awoke her. “Have you slept well?”

“Very, yes.”

Her mother sat on the bed, watching her. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too. Both of you.”

“Not much more can be done about the writer, now. Not until more information is found.”

Snow sighed. “We vetted everyone who knew, I promise. We spoke to everyone, including Cara, but I don’t believe she told anyone anything, including her parents, who we also talked to. But no, for now, there is nothing more we can do.”

“I would like to continue my life as much as I can, in light of that.” She pulled herself to sitting.

Snow leant in, taking her hand. “That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

“I assume the duke, Cicero, went home to the Isles. I know I cannot publically be in contact with him, but I see no harm in beginning personal correspondence with him, if only to extend an apology-”

Face dropping, Snow breathed out, eyes wide. “Oh, Emma.”

“What?”

Gripping her hand, she held Emma’s gaze. “He did- I arrived home, and that day he said he would go home, that he had no place intruding on such a private family matter. He packed, and left to board a ship destined for his home only a few days later.

“We still don’t entirely know what happened, but he was killed at the docks. Someone attacked him, we still haven’t caught who did it, but on receiving more of those letters, we believe it was the writer. He celebrated Cicero’s death, because it meant you couldn’t see him anymore.”

Emma couldn’t quite breathe. “He’s dead?”

“We sent his body home, and we promised to visit and pay our respects as soon as we found you and who did it.”

Emma turned away, hand covering her mouth. “I told him I’d marry him.”

Reaching out, Snow rubbed her knee. “Sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry, I…”

“It’s not your fault.”

Her face crumpled, and she turned to her mother. “I thought he would be a good king.”

“From what your father has said, he would.” Snow sighed. “Except you didn’t love him.”

“I don’t need to love the man I marry. I’m not you, I’m not going to have my wedding in a forest with a knight and my mother and no one else- I’m having mine in a palace, and everyone will be watching. I have to pick someone who will help the kingdom, not myself.”

“Emma, when you are queen there will be no difference between you and the kingdom anymore. The only reason your father and I succeeded in taking this land back is because we did it together. I know you’ve never loved someone, but when you do you’ll understand. It’s having a friend for life, someone you can always rely on, even if it’s just to make a joke and help you smile in the worst of moments. You will want to have waited. It’s worth it.”

Emma blinked away tears rising in her eyes. Her heartbeat, as steady as ever, seemed to falter for a moment, as if it knew it would never love, as if she would never let it fulfil its potential. “I could grow to love a man I married.”

“That’s not the same.”

“I still want a new list of suitors. He spoke of the prince in his kingdom, seemed quite attached- do we know anything of his suitability?”

“Prince Gwaine would be an excellent choice were he looking for a wife,” Snow said, whipping her words at Emma, “but as I understand it at present, he is searching for a husband. Emma, did you not listen to word I just said?”

“I did. I merely chose to listen with my head, and not my heart.”

Snow ran her hands through her hair. “Of all the things we could have raised you to be, too cold to your own feelings was not what I expected.”

“I’m not cold!”

“I never said that, and I know that and that’s why I’m trying to explain to you this would be a terrible idea. You’re not cold, you could never be cold unless you were protecting someone else, and you think you are doing that but the result of this would make your miserable. I won’t allow you to do that.”

“So where do we draw the line, mother?” Emma said, throwing her hands up in the air. “Should I fall in love with someone in nobility, or can I fall in love with a commoner? What kind of commoner- a rich merchant? Can I go lower than that, and marry a blacksmith? What about a peasant, or a petty criminal? Where do we draw the line in love?”

“We don’t,” Snow said, shaking her head. “If you find someone your father will walk you down the aisle and I will cry no matter who it is. I trust that you’ll find someone worthy of you.”

“What does ‘worthy’ even mean?”

“It means someone generous, kind and loyal. It means someone as intelligent as you so they can keep up. It means someone physically fit enough that they could hold their own in a fight, because we both know you need a sparring partner. Please, stop pretending not to understand.”

“I understand, I just don’t think I should wait.”

Snow squeezed her eyes shut, then took Emma’s hand. “We will revisit this conversation when we both have calmed ourselves. I fear we’re both too upset to say this properly.”

“I’m not upset at all.”

Lips tight, Snow smiled. “Later.”

Her father arrived with enough food for breakfast three times over, and they spoke only of the lightest of topics, eating on her bed together. They hadn’t eaten that way since she was a child, but there was something fond and pleasant about it. 

Cara arrived partway through breakfast, helping Emma choose her outfit for the day, all the while nibbling on food Snow offered her.

“Have you anything in particular in mind for today?”

“Nothing outstanding. Something similar to yesterday, perhaps?”

“That’s very loose,” David said.

“She’s shouldn’t wear corsets yet,” Cara said, laying Emma’s clothes out. “The physician suggested at least a week of caution, but I’m thinking two.”

David rounded on Emma. “You called for a physician and didn’t say anything? What’s wrong?”

“It was merely a precaution,” Emma said. “I was injured twice, and a physician had already seen to both wounds, but I thought a second opinion was wise.”

“What injuries?”

“We were ambushed on the road out of the city, and there was a fight, and a sword caught my arm. It needed nothing more than a few stitches and rest.”

“And the second?”

Emma scratched the back of her neck. “A vessel tried to capture the Jolly Roger. I was stabbed in the stomach, but that’s when the physician attended to me and I had the best possible care. Again, this was a long time gone now, almost two weeks, and it’s healing well.”

Snow rubbed her face with her hands. “This was the safer place for you… how?”

“I could see my enemies coming on the Jolly Roger,” Emma said, cool in tone.

Snow and James turned back to their food, and Emma asked to wear pearls with the white dress Cara had chosen. Cara brought her the bracelet Cicero had given her without question, and a silver chain necklace to match.

Her parents left, a little earlier than Emma would have liked, but they had invited Xavier to their kingdom to pursue their bordering dispute and could not be late for the meeting. They asked Emma to stay out of sight.

“What do you wish to do today, your highness?” Cara asked, tidying up their breakfast while Emma dressed herself.

“Letter writing and so forth, nothing too interesting,” Emma said, seating herself at her desk. Picking a quill from her draw, she ran her fingers over it.

Cara saw her play with it, the light spilling through the windows glinting off the bracelet and fragmenting up the walls, and on the desk. “Your highness, may I speak freely?”

Jumping out of her reverie, Emma frowned. “Of course, Cara. Always.”

“I missed you.”

Emma blinked, dropping the quill to stand and pull Cara into a hug. “I missed you too. You are my closest friend.”

Cara smiled into her shoulder, and pulled back. “And you are mine, Emma.”

Hand resting on Cara’s shoulder, Emma smiled. “So I hope you don’t think for a second I haven’t noticed that beautiful necklace you’re wearing. I expect to hear the story behind that soon.”

“Oh!” Cara looked down, hand touching it. “It was a gift- my sister was married last week, and I was her bridesmaid. She said she’d loaned it, but she actually bought it for me and told me at the reception.”

“That was kind of her.”

“She bought herself one, too- so we match.”

Emma smiled, the red stone cut into a heart. “You can carry each other around with you.”

“Yes.”

Emma sighed, dropping her hand. “Anyway, we must get on,” she said, turning back to her desk. “If you don’t mind, you might have to deliver several letters today.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Wonderful,” Emma said, pulling out ink and parchment.

The first was a letter to the blacksmith, written as if from one of the armourers in the palace. She needed her sword, various daggers and more arrows made, and she requested that her bow be replaced. 

The second requested information on all sailors captured or lost at sea in the last month from the navy’s records, and Cara returned with a note saying it would take until the next day to compile the relevant information. 

The last was a letter to his royal highness, Prince Gwaine. She did not cry. She scarcely felt, even though every word she knew to be true.

 

 _I would like to extend my sincerest apologies for the loss of your friend. I only learnt of his death last night, and it shocked me. I cannot claim to have known him very well, but I was enjoying getting to know him and by all accounts, he was the kindest of people. He spoke so very highly of you and your friendship. Articulating your feelings I should imagine would be very difficult, and so I do not ask that you reply to this._  
_I believe that the man who killed Cicero means to make another attempt on my life, and that Cicero was not killed for any reason other than his association with me. I did not think that this would happen, I had no idea how far this would go, but that is the reason for my disappearance. I was trying to make my kingdom safer, but in truth I abandoned it when it needed me most. I abandoned Cicero. One day, I hope to make amends, but for now I shall offer the promise of finding the man who killed Cicero, and a request to visit you when I have done so, to speak to you in person about this. You, of course, may deny that request._  
_I am so sorry._  
_Your obedient servant,  
_ _Emma_

 

Stamping her seal into the wax, Cara saw to it that the letter would accompany the king and queens’ letters, which were to be shipped out the next night.

On Cara’s return, Emma had set up a chess table, and they played. It whiled away hours of inconsequential time well enough; previously, on the nights Emma could not sleep for nightmares, or the days she couldn’t stand to leave her room. The best they’d ever played was in front of a duchess who insisted women shouldn’t play the game, and logic wasn’t fitting for them. Cara beat Emma, and then the duchesses’ husband, but Emma was determined to win at least once this day.

“That might not be a wise move,” Cara said.

“Well, I’m making it,” Emma said, and promptly lost.

The next week passed in much the same way. Emma could not put much in place in fear of revealing her return, could not move until her enemy made his. There was no money to trace- Gavrilo had not been paid upfront- and the pub had not been visited by the blonde man since.

There were more letters. Cara held them out to Emma, biting her lip, and for the first time since returning home, Emma was angry. He forced her to confine herself to her room, unbeknownst to her people she had returned.

She held them over candles, the flames licking up the envelopes and making ashes of words she’d never read.

“Do you want me to dispose of them from now on?”

Emma lay them on her desk, the last corner burning itself up. “No. It’s all evidence. Put them in the drawers, with the others.” She turned to Cara. “You wouldn’t happen to have any of the letters he sent while I was away, would you?”

Skimming through them, Emma noted how erratic the writing became. One sentence was not related to the next, and the whole was a mess of anger, passionate declarations of love and violence. Her eyes lingered on ‘Captain Hook’, scrawled in entirely the wrong hand.

Cara watched her read.

“What an excellent waste of parchment,” she said, folding it up and passing it to Cara. “Could you please fetch my mother? I need to speak to her.”

She was already writing her address when Cara returned with her mother, but Emma didn’t greet her first. “Cara, please will you ready an outfit for me, suitable for a public address? Please include a corset, I want to seem as composed as possible.”

“A public address?” Her mother stared at her. “What for?”

“I don’t want to hide anymore,” Emma said, and Cara bowed her head. Emma frowned. “Perhaps it’s best you leave until we have settled this, Cara.”

Nodding, Cara left without another word.

“Emma, as you rightly pointed out, being here is dangerous. It’s less dangerous than a pirate ship, but-”

“My people are outside the walls of this building right now. I abandoned them and they still think I am gone. They think I don’t care about them, and they have no idea what has been happening. I need to persuade them of my loyalty. I need to show that I will fight if I need to, that I will not compromise myself or my kingdom for my own life. 

“I will not cower in the face of death anymore. I will not run, I will not hide, I am standing up and I am saying no more.”

Her mother bit her lip. “You will have Sir Lawrence at your side every moment of every day until the writer is caught.”

“Very well.”

“Your father has to agree, too.”

“May I convince him myself?” 

Her mother paused, head tilted, slight frown on her face. “I think… he’ll be best convinced by me. And I may be able to stay calm where you won’t.”

Emma disagreed with the latter part of her statement, but let it be. “Will you have the word spread of a royal announcement this afternoon?”

“At the steps at three, shall we say?”

“Yes. Should you like us to be there, too?” She nodded, and Snow kissed her forehead. “If this is what you want.”

Emma took a few, deep breaths. Her mother’s hand was on the door handle. “Did you mean what you said? That it wouldn’t who I loved, as long as I loved them?”

“I will respect any relationship you are happy in, Emma.”

Emma nodded. “Perhaps, when this is over… I should travel. I should meet people, and learn about other kingdoms, and make as many friends as I can. Instead of searching for a husband.”

Snow smiled. “That sounds like a wonderful plan.”

After Snow left, Cara entered and listed different colours of dresses Emma owned. Emma chose red.

***

Her mother and father stepped out first, hand in hand. The screams and cheers of Snow White, alive and well and smiling, was enough to lift the waning spirits of the people. They stood at the very edge of the steps at the doors of the palace, only twenty feet away from the front row of people. They announced Emma’s return and introduced her, and the moment they realise it was the truth the crowd erupted, hundreds of citizens yelling. For the first time since setting foot on land, Emma felt as though she was in the right place, their excitement thrumming under her very skin.

She waved, and smiled, and waited for them to quieten.

“I am so humbled by such a warm welcome. Thank you.” Bright eyes, easy smiles. Emma didn’t want to take it from them. “I have been absent for too long. I left you when you all needed me, and for that I apologize. It will not happen again.

“The reason for my absence has not been disclosed, but I would now like to explain it to you all. Over six months ago, I began to receive letters threatening my friends, my family, and more than anything else, my life. Since they began, I have accumulated over fifty letters, signed under a false name and all claiming, at one point or another, I will die. We have reason to believe the writer of these letters killed a man as a result of his speaking to me.”

The crowd stirred; uneasy, looking to each other, they shifted.

“For the first time, I would like to answer this writer. I have not read the last thirty or so- it was an exercise in wasted time, the same things were said over and over- but I would like the writer to know this. You do not scare me. My life is mine, and it will not be dictated by you. My parents, their majesties the King and Queen of the Northern Kingdom, are the greatest examples of courage I will ever know and I look to them now, as I should have a long time ago. I will not be cowed by malice or hatred. My parents and my people and my hope are far greater than you will ever be.

“To my people, I say this- love wisely. Love widely. Love the people in your life as long and as loud as you can, and never let someone take it from you. Believe in yourself. You will prevail.”

Emma nodded, standing aside, and her parents took a hand each, standing with her. It was slow, the reaction, but it began to build, Snow kissing Emma’s cheek, David nudging her shoulder with his own, and Emma smiled, and the crowd began to cheer.

She would not leave them hopeless. Defying the writer was her intention, and giving them reason to hope was the most poetic way of doing it, because their hope fuelled hers.

“Thank you, for your time,” Emma said, and they went back into the palace together. The challenge issued, Emma knew it was only a matter of time before he picked up the gauntlet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter will be uploaded on Friday the 12th :)  
> Also, thank you brandidog, acosto03, pursuinghappyness, KiwistreetSwan, faf986, pietro and momsdowntime for all your reviews.


	9. IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several questions are answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> August 12th, 2014- the date I first had the idea for this story. It only took me two years to get it done.

In picking up the gauntlet, the writer was most unassuming. Emma’s life became a flurry of activity in hours, her usual duties resuming, and his demands to see her were buried under them. Spokespeople for charities requested an audience with her to ask for support. The laws of trading charters for ships between the Northern Kingdom and the Outliers needed improvements, and Emma entered negotiations one behalf of her parents. Infrequently and without announcement, she made public appearances in the streets, talking to her people again.

The quiet man who strolled into the castle, smiling at Cara and asking to see the princess, was neither unusual nor thought much of. He was not the first. Turned away, for her royal highness was busy with foreign dignitaries, he accepted it gracefully- he was, after all, a nobleman.

The second time he came, the fifth day after her public speech, Cara was not the one who received him. It was Sir Lawrence, and he assured the man he could pass on the message of his visit, but Emma was busy, and there was nothing to be done.

In her room, sat at her desk, Emma was making note of the main arguments for lowering the taxes on exports into the Outliers when there was a tap at her door.

She sighed. She’d asked Cara not to disturb her. “Come in.” The door open and closed. Turning, Emma’s mouth dropped open.

His blonde hair slicked back, it only served to emphasise his hooked nose and thick eyebrows, and he smoothed his doublet as though the embroidered blue satin and silver thread would impress her. He was all teeth in an overly wide smile.

“You’re the Duke Caspian’s son. Hunter.”

The party. Too much wine, he made her uncomfortable, she told him a lie. Her father told her there was nothing to worry about. Hook understood, Hook knew, Hook even knew the lie-

“You said I’m the sweetest person you’ve ever met.”

Dropping her quill on the desk, standing, she wished he was not between her and her wardrobe, where her weapons lay. “I did.”

He beamed, his whole face lit up, and Emma’s spine arched in a shiver.

“That was a long time ago. How did you get in here?”

“I walked.”

“These are my private chambers. You can’t be here.”

He was the writer. She knew it in the curve of his smile, the drying of her throat, the fingers urging to grip a sword.

“Of course I can,” he said.

“You need my permission.”

“You love me.” He said it with such joy, arms held out wide to her for an embrace, she almost believed he was saying it to a person stood behind her.

“Hunter, I don’t even know you. I know your name and your father. How could I possibly love you?”

She wanted to throw her anger at him, her rage and grief and she wanted hurt him, but his hand rested on the hilt of his sword at his waist. He couldn’t be reasoned with, but she could keep him calm.

His smile faltered, a fraction enough to notice, but he resettled in moments. “You do, my darling. You need me to protect you.”

“From what?” 

“Captain Hook, of course.” His brow was furrowed, deep in concern, as though he understood her.

“He will not hurt me.”

Being taken off his ship seemed to be a lifetime ago, and though the wound was raw she couldn’t feel it. She wasn’t hurting, because she was still numb.

Hunter nodded knowledgably, smiling at her. “Because I am here.”

Emma bit her lip. “No, Hunter. He will not hurt me because I met him again and I know him better now. He is not kind or generous, but he is honourable. And he has no intention of hurting me.”

Hunter frowned, and for the first time it was not a caricature expression. Worry, anger, fear- all flitted across his face. “He sent you such terrible letters.”

She took a few steps towards him. “Hunter, he did not send those letters to me, and the only people who know the name signed at the end are my parents, Hook, and my maid. And, of course, the writer.”

His face was blank, as though the words had shot straight over his head.

“Did you send me the letters?”

“Captain Hook, the villain, he sent you those letters. I’m a hero,” Hunter said. He spoke in all simplifications and no nuances, as though he were a child explaining his thoughts to another child, not a future queen.

“I don’t think you are, Hunter.”

“I’m your prince,” he tried to insist, reaching out and holding her upper arm, pulling her in close.

She tried to shake him off, but his grip was fierce. “Let go of me,” she said, yanking.

“My love, we are meant to be together,” he said, eyes wide again, grabbing her with both hands now. “We will marry and celebrate and we shall have the evil pirate executed, and your heart shall be mine.”

She couldn’t breathe. Like ice burning into her skin, his hand had plunged into her chest to rip her heart out.

“No-” she said, unable to move and barely able to breathe. “No, don’t-”

With his free hand, he caressed her cheek. “We shall be together,” he told her, eyes full of joy. “Forever.”

Emma squeezed her eyes shut, thinking of her parents, wondering if they would ever realise their daughter no longer had her heart. Killian would. She had never known something more true- he would hear one sentence from her and know something was wrong.

He was not coming, but she could hope.

“Where is it?”

Emma slowly cracked open one eye.

Hunter’s hand was empty.

“Where is your heart?” he said, his caress becoming a vice grip on her shoulder. His glare was fixed on her. “What have you done with it?”

She stared at his hand, raising one of her own to her chest. “Is it… not there?”

Hunter’s empty hand was full of her hair, dragging her face to look straight into his. “I need it.”

She didn’t understand. She didn’t dare say he might have done it wrong, because her heart was in her chest. Where else could it be?

She choked for air- he’d thrown the other hand in, searching for it. He couldn’t find it, and he was so enraged the whites of his eyes were red with throbbing blood vessels.

“WHERE IS IT?” he shrieked, yanking her to ground by just her hair. “What have you done with your heart?”

“I haven’t done anything,” she said, chest heaving with gasps and choking back a sob. “I don’t know where it is-”

“Who stole it from you?” he said, standing up straight and drawing his sword. “I will kill them!”

“Considering you were about to steal it and you’re only disappointed you didn’t get it first, I don’t think you have the moral high ground, _love_.” The endearment rolled off her tongue in the same way it used to run off Killian’s through tears, and she knew why she hadn’t felt the pain of leaving Killian after she’d returned to the palace.

She hadn’t her heart anymore.

She wasn’t so upset by the idea, particularly as it left Hunter utterly defeated.

Drawing his sword, he pointed it at her. “You have betrayed me.”

“I had my heart taken from me,” she said. “I am the one who has been betrayed.”

“You were supposed to protect your heart and give it to me,” he said, pacing. Emma sat up slowly, watching him. “You were supposed to love me, we were supposed to be married, but you’ve given your heart to someone else-”

“‘Given’ implies there was a choice,” she said. “There was no choice about it.”

The sword missed her face by a dangerously small few inches. “You are evil,” he spat, levelling the sword at her neck. Then, he was crying. “I love you, you know I do, but you can’t do this-”

“Hunter, please-”

He tapped the sword against her skin a few times, weighing it out, testing the swing. She was about to lose her head. 

“Hunter-”

“Goodbye, my love.”

He swung. She barely had the time to duck, feeling the breeze of the blade slice above her head and catch some hairs. Without a moment to pass, she threw herself upwards, grabbing his sword hand and yanking it back on itself to the ground, Hunter with it. Kicking up, she caught him under the jaw and the throat. 

His wrist broken, she snatched at the hilt of the sword and threw it across the floor. It skidded under the bed, and scrambling to her feet she ripped the door and jumping through it before Hunter was even standing. 

She sprinted, any direction would do, throwing herself around a corner and flying down a flight of steps, smacking straight into her father’s chest.

“Emma-?”

She glanced down. Her delicate satin gown was ripped up the leg where she’d overstretched to kick him, her hair pulled out of its bun in clumps, and her chest was heaving, gasping for breath.

“The man who sent me the letters was Lord Caspian’s son, Hunter,” she said, hand clinging to his arm. “Found him.”

***

While her mother had improved significantly, she was still easily tired. Emma found her in her parents’ chambers, and propped up by pillows, Snow listened in horror as Emma recounted what had happened. 

“He couldn’t pull your heart out of your chest?” she said, eyes wide. “Emma, I’ve never heard of that before.”

Emma shook her head, feeling the stir of flowing blood in her neck with her fingers. “I’m not so sure he couldn’t. I’m almost certain he couldn’t find it.”

“Your heart is still in your chest, Emma,” her mother said, squeezing Emma’s hand. “I know you. You’re my daughter.”

“He tried twice. He couldn’t find it; it’s not there,” Emma said.

Snow bit her lip. “Is anything different? Do you feel different?”

Emma cast her mind back. She thought of the tears at leaving the ship, but none in finding her mother safe and in good health. She thought of how much pride she felt for her parents, but could not summon the emotion at all.

Her heart was numb as if it were not there at all.

“Yes.”

Snow ran her thumb up and down the back of Emma’s hand, like she did when Emma couldn’t fall asleep.

“I don’t have nightmares anymore.”

Snow took a deep breath. Emma looked up at her, a child again.

“How could I not notice it was taken? I thought- I thought it _hurt_.”

“I don’t know,” Snow said. “But we will find it again.”

In her last days on the ship, Emma cried. It was all she could remember, except for the way Hook held her, and she couldn’t imagine even summoning a tear at this moment.

She had her heart until the last night on the ship. Somehow, Hook had it.

Her father marched into the room, eyes dark and cloak billowing behind him. “He won’t be leaving for a very long time. Gavrilo confirmed it was he who paid him, so I will organise his release tomorrow.”

“Did he confess?”

David’s jaw clenched. “He said he wrote you _love_ letters. They were meant to show you how he was your knight in shining armour.”

Snow blinked, busying herself with rearranging her bedding, but Emma only rolled her eyes.

“The threats of death dampened the romance of it, it has to be said.”

David looked at her, a half smile on his lips. “I’m glad it’s over.”

Snow and Emma looked at each other. 

“Not quite.”

David frowned.

“When you offered Hook a deal to get me back, what did you offer him?” Emma asked, and David cast his mind back.

“I told him I’d give him a pardon if he returned you to me.”

Snow’s hand slapped to her mouth. “Emma, you don’t think-”

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Emma said, thinking slowly. She touched her fingers back to her pulse, and it beat like a wave breaking against the shore. “It’s strange he would accept _that_ when I offered him a pardon, docking privileges within the kingdom and gold, isn’t it?”

“You offered him that?”

Snow sat up, ignoring David's protests. “Emma, if he has your heart-”

“He does.”

Her heart was lost, but it did not feel uncomfortable in doing so. It was waiting to be found again.

“Is he trying to get something more? Does he want the gold?”

Emma shook her head, looking around. “How long have I been home?”

“Eight days, Emma-”

“And there’s been nothing. When he took me as a maid it was less than an hour before they demanded the ransom, but he hasn’t… asked for anything. I don’t think he’s controlled me, either, I don’t feel I’ve done anything differently.”

Snow brushed away David's immediate angry protests. “So what do you think?”

“I think… I think I don’t know. I need to ask him.”

Snow nodded, leaning back in the pillows.

“He left the docks days ago, Emma, and there’s no way of tracing his ship…”

Emma stood, dusting off her dress. “There are ways. You simply have to know the right people. I must see Sir Lawrence, excuse me.”

She curtseyed, hurrying to leave and calling for Cara.

***

Emma sat tall in the throne room. Usually filled with people, the empty room whispered every noise made, her footsteps and clearing her throat. Sat atop several steps, in the seats her parents took, she smoothed her dress down. She’d spent an hour with her maid preparing for the moment; her corset laced under a deep blue gown in lace and tulle, her hair teased back and her sapphire-laden tiara fixed in it, her wrists and fingers and neck adorning complimenting jewels. She wore more makeup than she would normally, and she held herself very still.

She was grateful to do this without her heart, and she knew she was a coward for it.

Sir Lawrence entered, bowing low before speaking.

“Lieutenant Miles Holme has reported himself as present, your royal highness.”

“Are any other men with him?”

“As I understand it, two others have accompanied him here.”

Emma nodded. “Very well. Send the Lieutenant in.”

Sir Lawrence opened the door, and he marched in, approaching the bottom of the steps and bowing to her.

“Your royal highness, it is an honour to meet you.”

The last time she’d seen him, his hair was a mess and his sword bloody and she’d killed his captain.

“At ease, Lieutenant. The honour is mine, I assure you,” she said, nodding her head. “Are you well?”

“I am quite well, thank you,” he said. His expression was perfectly polite, if confused. “May I ask why I’ve been called here?”

“Of course. As I understand it, you were sent on a mission on the… _Defiance_ , last month, to search for special cargo.”

“I was, your highness.”

“Were you aware of what particular cargo you were searching for?”

“I was not informed, but my captain knew.”

His face shifted, and Emma felt herself waver. “Your captain, yes. The late Captain Phillippe Montagu?”

“Yes, your highness.”

“He lost his life on a pirate ship, as did many of the crew. Am I right?”

“Yes, you are.” 

“May I ask you a personal question, Lieutenant?”

He took a deep breath. “Of course.”

“Were you close to Captain Montagu?”

“We were childhood friends, your highness. We grew up together.”

Emma closed her eyes for a moment. “Yes. I understand he personally chose you as his Lieutenant three years ago, despite opposition to the appointment because of your lack of experience in leadership and your personal ties to each other. It was thought he was being biased.”

The Lieutenant blinked. “I didn’t know there was opposition, your highness.”

Emma smiled, gently. “Captain Montagu fought very hard to have you as his right hand man.”

He blinked away tears, and Emma gave him a moment.

“That sounds like him,” he said. His voice cracked.

“As I also understand it, your loyalty to the crown was unwavering during your capture.”

“We tried to be, your highness.”

“You more than tried. The loss of your captain and friend must have weighed upon you, but you conducted yourself with dignity and honour and you should be proud. Their majesties the king and queen offered you all a month’s paid leave, didn’t they?”

“They did, your highness. We were all very grateful for their generosity.”

“As generous as it was, I would like to extend it. I should like it if you would report to your men that they are now all entitled to up to three month’s paid leave, and if they need anything in the meantime they should approach Sir Lawrence about it and we will see how we can help.”

His jaw dropped. “…thank you, your highness.”

“I want to offer my personal condolences for your loss. Is there anything else you or any of your men require that I can ease your troubles with?”

“None of the men…” he said, a little lost for words.

“I sense there is something, however. Please, do not hold yourself back.”

“I don’t wish to be imprudent.”

“Nothing you can say will be too much or too little. Please.”

“The families, of the fallen men. They’re struggling to claim their gratuity money. Some of them are very young families, your highness.”

“Do you know why they are struggling?” Emma, said, leaning forwards and indicating that Sir Lawrence should come forward.

“I believe their money is being held on a technicality, your highness.”

Emma looked at Sir Lawrence. “Do you know why that would be?”

“Your highness, I don’t know why that would be. I will send my men to investigate immediately.”

“I want the families to have their full gratuity by the end of the day,” she said.

“I will send three knights now.”

“Good.”

Sir Lawrence left, and the Lieutenant stared up at her.

“Thank you, your highness. Phillippe’s family has been under great pressure because of money.”

“Phillippe’s family?”

“His sister and mother.”

“They need not fear anymore.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The doors were opened once more, and Sir Lawrence entered again.

“A Miss Annalise Chapelier has answered your summons, your royal highness,” he announced, and Emma nodded, standing up. “And the knights have been sent.”

“Excellent.”

“It’s been a pleasure, your highness,” the Lieutenant said, bowing.

“I’m glad you came, Lieutenant. Let me know if there’s anything else you need,” she said.

For a moment, his eyes lingered on her face, and she was sure he recognised her, but he merely smiled. “Thank you.”

He left, and she hoped she had done enough. Sir Lawrence looked to her, awaiting her next instruction.

“Send Annalise in immediately.”

“Of course, your royal highness.”

Annalise hastened in front of Emma and curtseyed low, not daring to make eye contact, long hair hiding her face.

“Your royal highness, it is my honour to meet you.”

Emma met Annalise at the bottom of the steps. “It is much more mine, I’ve heard such good things about you,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Please, stand.”

“Where-”

“Hiroki Saito,” Emma said with a shrug, and Annalise stared, eyes wide. Emma took her hands in her own. “You’re not in trouble, I assure you- quite the opposite. I understand you and he have a way of communicating, so I need you to send him a message. His captain has something of mine.”

***

At the docks, Annalise flew at Saito, straight into his arms. He lifted her in the air he hugged so tightly back. In catching sight of Emma, he lowered her to the ground.

He looked her up and down, taking in the elaborate crown Cara had braided her hair into, her fur lined suede jacket and heavy leather boots, the servant she passed the reigns of her horse to and her father at her side.

She caught his eye, nodded, and strode past their reunion and on board the Jolly Roger, for what would not be the last time in her life.

There was a whistle of recognition, the smiles quickly falling at the sight of those following her; namely her father and Sir Lawrence.

Emma found Smee.

“Is your captain in his quarters?” she asked as she headed towards them.

Mr Smee hurried to get himself in the way. “You’re not allowed to enter them without his permission-”

Emma quirked an eyebrow at him, hand on her hip. The pirates had been halted by the guards, and were watching.

“I suggest you get out of my way,” she said, stopping in front of Smee with her chin held high.

Smee held her gaze for several seconds, before looking to the ground. “Your men will have to wait outside.”

Her father stepped forwards, hand on the hilt of his sword. “That won’t be possible.”

“Step aside,” Emma said.

“I cannot-”

“We don’t have time for this-”

Her father had nearly drawn his sword before Emma held an open palm out to him, by way of calming him. “There’s no need. Smee, he knows to expect me.”

Taking a deep breath, Smee moved out of the way. Emma threw the door of the captain’s quarters open and strode inside, Hook jumping out of his seat at the desk.

His eyes were wide, hand rushing to his sword and dropping just as quickly as he took in Emma, jaw slack and something like joy in his eyes.

“I believe you have something of mine, Hook,” Emma said. She kept her eyes hard, unblinking as she glared into his eyes.

Her father and Sir Lawrence flanked her, shutting the door behind them.

Hook took a step forward, eyes not leaving her face. “Aye, love. You left your jacket.”

“Keep it. I meant something a little more precious.”

“Give it back and we’ll spare you and your crew’s lives,” her father said, unsheathing his sword. He said it with such venom Emma pushed the blade aside.

“Calm down, mate,” Hook said, hand and hook up in surrender. He looked back at Emma, smiling at her. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, love.”

“My heart,” Emma said. Hook’s smile dropped. “You stole it from me, didn’t you?”

Hook moved closer to her- well within the range of her father’s sword now- and tried not to betray his fear. “The man who wrote the letters- he truly tried to take it?”

“Yes.”

Hook’s breathing unsteadied. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Emma said, shaking away the concern in his voice, “but you have my heart, don’t you? You took it before I left the ship.”

Finally, Hook nodded. “Yes. I have your heart.”

Her father leapt forward, grabbing Hook to slam into the wall behind him, sword pressed to his throat.

“No-”

“How _dare_ you,” he spat, already drawing blood as Emma jumped to his side. “How dare you lay a hand on my daughter-”

“ _No_ ,” Emma said, yanking the blade down with her bare fingers. “This is not what we agreed.”

She balled her hand into a fist and wincing as blood welled up between her fingers, dripping onto the carpet. Staring him down, she heard her father slowly calm his breathing, relaxing his grip on the front of Hook’s vest.

“Please. If you cannot control yourself you should wait outside. Sir Lawrence?”

Her father dropped Hook and put himself between Hook and Emma before Sir Lawrence could move, backing her up several steps. 

“I’m not leaving you alone with him, Emma-”

“You are,” she said, her healthy hand on his chest. “He won’t hurt me.”

“How can you know that?”

Emma looked across the room to Hook, who was watching them. “He values the lives of his crew.”

She turned her back on Hook to walk her father out and shut the door behind them. Alone with him, silence cracking between them, she turned back.

“Where’s my heart?” she asked his hand, which was dabbing at the blood spots of blood on his neck, successfully ebbing its flow.

He ignored her, rubbing his fingers together to try to rid himself of the blood and pulling bandages out of a drawer in his desk to hold them out to her.

“Your hand,” he said, and she glared at him, hand stuck at her side. “Please, love, you’ll ruin the upholstery.”

Snorting a laugh that wasn’t amused, she unfurled her fingers and held out her hand. He carefully wrapped each bloodied finger. 

“Thank you,” he said, tying it off in a complicated knot. He’d stopped bleeding entirely.

Emma chose not to answer him, pulling her hand out of his the moment he was finished. She looked up and into his eyes. “I want my heart back.”

He swallowed, nodded, and turned on his heel to pull the chest at the foot of the bed open, rooting around to dig out a small, mahogany box. Placing it on the desk and prying it open, Hook felt Emma creep up behind him to see her own heart beating inside it.

With fingers holding it as softly as possible, she peeled it out of the box. Pure red, pulsing gently, it was strange to be so disconnected from it.

Hook was watching it too, and she took him in fully. She could see every line creasing on his face, so close to him she could taste cologne in the air. He looked to her. She took a deep breath.

“You pulled it out,” she said, holding her heart out to him. “You can put it back. I don’t know how.”

He took it, hook resting on her shoulder to steady her. She ignored the way she felt whole, even though her heart wasn’t yet back in her chest. 

“You were asleep and full of rum when I did this the first time. This will hurt.”

Emma swallowed and nodded. “I know.”

His hand plunged into her chest. It was white-hot, burning her and she gasped, unable to make a word or even a full sound. Breathing impossible, panic set in, she began to hyperventilate- and his hand disappeared with the pain.

There was a warmth she didn’t know she’d lost pulsing through her veins, overwhelmed by love and fear and anger all at once. She finally felt everything she knew she should’ve felt when she saw her mother, at the news of Cicero’s death, when Hunter found her, when she entered the captain’s quarters and Hook was there.

He caught her as she stumbled, both arms around her waist as she tried to catch her breath. Eyes shut and forehead leant against his chest, she breathed him in.

“I slept through _that_?” she said.

“Aye. You had a lot of rum, love,” he said, kissing her hair.

In his arms, she stiffened up, eyes flashing open. The palms of her hands pushed him back and she pulled away, cold air sweeping between them. She was steps away from him and it felt like a mile. 

She wanted to turn away from him, walk through the door and never return, but she couldn’t bring herself to. Her voice was steady when she spoke, gaze levelled at him, but her hands were shaking.

“If you ever return here, you will all hang.”

Hook nodded slowly, looking away from her. “You are safe from the writer now?”

“He’s in my dungeon, awaiting trial.”

He smiled, if a little bitterly. He looked away, and Emma studied him as though he were the last person she would see before her death.

“Then I will never disturb you again.”

She watched him, but he was inscrutable. He smiled to himself, and she had the urge to throw her dagger at him, but found herself turning to grab the door handle instead. 

“Emma, I-”

“Do you care or not?” she spat, rounding on him with fury she had never known. “Were you toying with me? When did you speak the truth and when were you lying? Was it all a joke to you, mocking the naïve little princess who could have her heart so easily taken from her?”

“Of course I care, love.”

Hook’s eyes were tight, his smile sad, but he was looking at her, and she felt the rage swelling inside her deflate.

“You were so worried about your mother. You had to go home, there was no choice, but if you returned the man who threatened your life might come for you. The news you had returned must have been made known to your people, for the sake of your kingdom.

“But if your life could be sustained through another means, he would expose himself. Even if he managed to corner you, to find you, if you hadn’t your heart he couldn’t take it.”

Her gaze dropped to the ground, but he walked forwards, cupping her cheek. When she looked into his eyes, he smoothed away the tear that fell.

“I rather thought if I told you of this plan, you’d give your heart to someone else. Forgive me, love. I wanted you to come back.”

Her hand caught his- for a moment, he thought she was pushing him away, but she just held it. 

“Did he really not hurt you?”

“He tried.”

Hook smiled.

She bit her lip, holding back more tears, watching every movement in his face. “Are you- are you tricking me again? Do you care about me or my wealth?”

He huffed a laugh, threading his fingers through hers and kissing her hand. “I don’t care about your money, your title, or any pardon you offer me.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he pressed a finger against her lips. He carefully pushed her hair back with his hook. “I care about the way you terrified me because I knew from the moment I met you I could never be as good as you. I care about making you laugh, because it is the happiest sound I’ve ever heard. I care about your heart. I want to protect it, because it’s the most precious thing on this earth. I care more than I thought possible, love.”

True.

She nodded a little, eyes fixed on him even though they were full of tears, and she pulled him into a kiss. His hand held the base of her neck, fingers sliding into the roots of her hair and sending shivers down her spine. She grabbed the back of his vest and pulled him closer, pressing his body slick against her curves. Breathless and grinning ear to ear, he pulled away.

“Don’t look so pleased,” she huffed, resting her forehead on his shoulder. He wrapped himself around her.

“As you wish, love,” he said, smirk still in place.

Emma lifted herself away, playing with his fingers. “I cannot promise you anything. I’m in no place to.”

Lacing his fingers firmly with hers, he caught her eye. “Allow me to make a promise, then. I promise to love you as long as you want me. Although, I do recall you saying your parents want to see you happy.”

Emma shook her head. “I don’t suppose they expected me to choose a pirate.”

“I don’t suppose they expected a pirate as charming as I.”

She laughed, but her humour was deadened with a glance at the door.

He kissed her gently. “Shall we?” he asked, with a smile she returned.

They left together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gawd, I hope y'all like the ending. That reunion scene was the first I wrote and I'm pretty sure is only surviving scene from the first draft. Thanks for all the comments KK1986, moms_downtime, KiwistreetSwan, Roseyflush and pietro last chapter.  
> Please let me know what you think.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who couldn't be bothered to figure out the code: 'don't pay the full amount they think I am a maid love Mary Margaret'. Funnily enough, that's a code I read about when I was about ten, and it's the only code that's ever stuck in my brain, so I use it for everything. (It was used in WW2, for anyone interested in history, by a POW who escaped.)


End file.
